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“Like a white streak, Perry breasted the string” 

[Page 318] 



/the 

PURPLE PENNANT 


BY 

RALPH HENRY BARBOUR 

r\ 

AUTBQE OF “THE BECHET PLAY,” “THE LUCKY 6EVESTH,” ETC. 



ILLUSTRATED BY 

NORMAN P. ROCKWELL 


NEW YORK AND LONDON 
D. APPLETON AND COMPANY 
1916 


Copyright, 1916, by 
D. APPLETON AND COMPANY 



Printed in the .United States of America 

3d 


4l 


APR -4 1916 


v 


CONTENTS 

CHAPTER PAGE 

I. Fudge Is Interrupted i 

II. The Try-out . II 

III. The Shadow on the Curtain .... 23 

IV. The Ode to Spring 38 

V. Perry Remembers 50 

VI. The False Mustache 61 

VII. Fudge Revolts 74 

VIII. Lanny Studies Steam Engineering . . 89 

IX. The New Sign 99 

X. The Borrowed Roller no 

XI. Gordon Deserts His Post 120 

XII. On Dick’s Porch 130 

XIII. Foiled ! 142 

XIV. The Game with Norrisville .... 152 

XV. The White Scar 166 

XVI. Sears Makes a Suggestion .... 179 

XVII. The Squad at Work 190 

XVIII. The Officer at the Door 202 

XIX. The Train-robber Is Warned .... 213 

XX. Mr. Addicks Explains 226 

XXI. On the Track 240 

XXII. The New Coach 258 

XXIII. Out at the Plate! 273 

XXIV. Clearfield Concedes the Meet . . . 290 

XXV. Springdale Leads . . . * . . . . 300 

XXVI. The Purple Pennant . . 4. . . . 31 1 




LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS 


"‘Like a white streak, Perry breasted the 

‘“On your mark! . . . Set! . . . Go!’” . 

“ ‘What’s that ?’ asked Perry, startled” . 

“Lanny, dropping to his knees on the plate, 
foot from the ground” 


string” 

Frontispiece 

FACING PAGE 

. . . 18 
. . . 220 
got it a 


286 












THE PURPLE PENNANT 


CHAPTER I 

» 

FUDGE IS INTERRUPTED 

K EYS/ ” murmured Fudge Shaw dreamily, 
“ ‘please’ — ‘knees’ — ‘breeze’ — I’ve used that 
— ‘pease’ — ‘sneeze’ — Oh, piffle !” His in- 

spired gaze returned to the tablet before him and he 
read aloud the lines inscribed thereon : 

“O Beauteous Spring, thou art, I ween, 

The best of all the Seasons, 

Because you clothe the Earth with green 
And for numerous other reasons. 

“You make the birds sing in the trees, 

The April breeze to blow, 

The Sun to shine ” 

“ ‘The Sun to shine ,’ ” he muttered raptly, 

“ ‘The Sun to shine’ ; ‘squeeze’ — ‘tease’ — ‘fleas’ 

Gee, I wish I hadn’t tried to rhyme all the lines. 
Now, let’s see : ‘You make the birds ’ ” 


i 


THE PURPLE PENNANT 

“ O Fudge! Fudge Shaw!” 

Fudge raised his head and peered through the 
young leaves of the apple-tree in which he was 
perched, along the side yard to where, leaning over 
the fence, was a lad of about Fudge’s age. The 
visitor alternately directed his gaze toward the tree 
and the house, for it was Sunday afternoon and 
Perry Hull was doubtful of the propriety of hailing 
his friend in week-day manner. 

“Hello, Perry, come on in!” called Fudge. And 
thereupon he detached the “Ode to Spring” from 
the tablet, hastily folded it and put it in his pocket. 
When Perry climbed the ladder which led to the 
platform some eight feet above the ground Fudge 
was in the act of closing a Latin book with a tired 
air. 

“What are you doing?” asked Perry. He was 
a nice-looking chap of fifteen, with steady dark- 
brown eyes, hair a shade or two lighter and a 
capable and alert countenance. He swung himself 
lithely over the rail instead of crawling under, as 
was Fudge’s custom, and seated himself on the 
narrow bench beyond the books. 

“Sort of studying,” answered Fudge, ostentatious- 
ly shoving the books further away and scowling dis- 
tastefully at them. “Where have you been?” 

“Just moseying around. Peach of a day, isn’t it?” 

2 


FUDGE IS INTERRUPTED 

It was. It had rained until nearly dinner time, 
and grass and leaves were still beaded with moisture 
which an ardent April sun was doing its best to burn 
away. It was the first spring-like day in over a 
week of typical April weather during which Clear- 
held had remained under gray skies. Fudge as- 
sented to Perry’s observation, but it was to be seen 
that his thoughts were elsewhere. His lips moved 
soundlessly. Perry viewed him with surprise and 
curiosity, but before he could demand an explana- 
tion of his host’s abstraction Fudge burst forth tri- 
umphantly. 

“ ‘B-b-bees!’ ” exclaimed Fudge. (Excitement al- 
ways caused him to stammer, a fact which his 
friends were aware of and frequently made use of 
for their entertainment.) Perry involuntarily 
ducked his head and looked around. 

“Where?” he asked apprehensively. 

“Nowhere.” Fudge chuckled. “I was just think- 
ing of something.” 

“Huh !” Perry settled back again. “You’re 
crazy, I guess. Better come for a walk and you’ll 
feel better.” 

“Can’t.” Fudge looked gloomily at the books. 
“Got to study.” 

“Then I’ll beat it.” 

“Hold on, can’t you? You don’t have to go yet. 

3 


THE PURPLE PENNANT 

I — there isn’t such an awful hurry.” The truth 
was that Fudge was not an enthusiastic pedestrian, 
a fact due partly to his physical formation and part- 
ly to a disposition contemplative rather than active. 
Nature had endowed Fudge — his real name, by the 
way, was William — with a rotund body and capable 
but rather short legs. Walking for the mere sake 
of locomotion didn’t appeal to him. He would 
have denied indignantly that he was lazy, and, to 
do him justice, he wasn’t. With Fudge it was less 
a matter of laziness than discrimination. Give him 
something to do that interested him — such as play- 
ing baseball or football — and Fudge would willingly, 
enthusiastically work his short legs for all that was 
in them, but this thing of deliberately tiring oneself 
out with no sensible end in view — well, Fudge 
couldn’t see it! He had a round face from which 
two big blue eyes viewed the world with a constant 
expression of surprise. His hair was sandy-red, 
and he was fifteen, almost sixteen, years old. 

^It’s too nice a day to sit around and do nothing,” 
objected Perry. "Why don’t you get your studying 
done earlier?” 

"I meant to, but I had some writing to do.” 
Fudge looked important. Perry smiled slightly. "I 
finished that story I told you about.” 

"Did you?” Perry strove to make his question 
4 


FUDGE IS INTERRUPTED 

sound interested. “Are you going to have it 
printed ?” 

“Maybe,” replied the other carelessly. “It’s a pip- 
pin, all right, Perry ! It’s nearly fourteen thousand 
words long! What do you know about that, son? 
Maybe Pll send it to the Reporter and let them pub- 
lish it. Or maybe I’ll send it to one of the big New 
York magazines. I haven’t decided yet. Dick says 
I ought to have it typewritten ; that the editors won’t 
read it unless it is. But it costs like anything. 
Morris Brent has a typewriter and he said I could 
borrow it, but I never wrote on one of the things and 
I suppose it would take me a month to do it, eh? 
Seems to me if the editors want good stories they 
can’t afford to be so plaguey particular. Besides, 
my writing’s pretty easy reading just as soon as you 
get used to it.” 

“You might typewrite the first two or three 
sheets,” suggested Perry, with a chuckle, “and then 
perhaps the editor would be so anxious to know 
how it ended he’d keep right on. What are you 
going to call it, Fudge?” 

Fudge shook his head. “I’ve got two or three 
good titles. ‘The Middleton Mystery’ is one of 
them. Then there’s ‘Young Sleuth’s Greatest Case.’ 
I guess that’s too long, eh?” 

“I like the first one better.” 

5 


THE PURPLE PENNANT 

4 ‘Yes. Then I thought of ‘Tracked by Anarch- 
ists.* How’s that sound to you?” 

“ ‘The Meredith Mystery* is the best,** replied 
Perry judicially. 

“ ‘Middleton,* ** corrected Fudge. “Yep, I guess 
it’ll be that. I told that fellow Potter about it and 
he said if I’d let him take it he’d see about getting 
it published in the Reporter. He’s a sort of an 
editor, you know. But I guess the Reporter isn’t 
much of a paper, and a writer who’s just starting out 
has to be careful not to cheapen himself, you see.” 

“Will he pay you for it ?” asked Perry. 

“He didn’t say. I don’t suppose so. Lots of 
folks don’t get paid for their first things, though. 
Look at — look at Scott; and — and Thackeray, and 
— lots of ’em! You don’t suppose they got paid at 
first, do you ?” 

“Didn’t they?” asked Perry in some surprise. 

“Oh, maybe Thackeray got a few dollars,” hedged 
Fudge, “but what was that? Look what he used 
to get for his novels afterwards!” 

Perry obligingly appeared deeply impressed, al- 
though he secretly wondered what Thackeray did 
get afterwards. However, he forebore to ask, 
which was just as well, I fancy. Instead, tiring of 
Fudge’s literary affairs, he observed: “Well, I 
hope they print it for you, anyway. And maybe 
6 


FUDGE IS INTERRUPTED 
they’ll take another one and pay for that. Say, 
aren’t you going out for baseball, Fudge ?” 

“Oh, I’m going out, I guess, but it won’t do any 
good. I don’t intend to sit around on the bench 
half the spring and then get fired. The only place 
I’d stand any chance of is the outfield, and I sup- 
pose I don’t hit well enough to make it. You going 
to try?” 

Perry shook his head. “No, I don’t think so. I 
can’t play much. Warner Jones told me the other 
day that if I’d come out he’d give me a good chance. 
I suppose he thinks I can play baseball because I 
was on the Eleven.” 

“Well, gee, if you could get to first you’d steal all 
the other bases, I’ll bet,” said Fudge admiringly. 
“You sure can run, Perry!” 

“Y-yes, and that makes me think that maybe I 
could do something on the Track Team. What do 
you think, Fudge ?” 

“Bully scheme ! Go out for the sprints ! Ever try 
the hundred ?” 

“No, I’ve never run on the track at all. How fast 
ought I to run the hundred yards, Fudge, to have a 
show ?” 

“Oh, anything under eleven seconds would do, I 
suppose. Maybe ten and four-fifths. Know what 
you can do it in?” 


7 


THE PURPLE PENNANT 

“No, I never ran it. I’d like to try, though” 

“Why don’t you? Say, I’ve got a stop-watch in 
the house. You wait here and I’ll get it and we’ll go 

over to the track and ” 

“Pshaw, I couldn’t run in these clothes!” 

“Well, you can take your coat and vest off, can’t 
you? And put on a pair of sneakers? Of course, 
you can’t run as fast, but you can show what you 
can do. Perry, I’ll just bet you anything you’ve got 
the making of a fine little sprinter ! You wait here ; 
•I won’t be a minute.” 

“But it’s Sunday, Fudge, and the field will be 

locked, and — and you’ve got your lessons ” 

“They can wait,” replied Fudge, dropping to the 
ground and making off toward the side door. 
“We’ll try the two-twenty, too, Perry !” 

He disappeared and a door slammed. Perry 
frowned in the direction of the house. “Silly 
chump!” he muttered. Then he smiled. After all, 
why not? He did want to know if he could run, 
and, if they could get into the field, which wasn’t 
likely, since it was Sunday and the gates would be 
locked, it would be rather fun to try it ! He won- 
dered just how fast ten and four-fifths seconds was. 
He wished he hadn’t done so much walking since 
dinner, for he was conscious that his legs were a bit 
tired. At that moment in his reflections there came 
8 


FUDGE IS INTERRUPTED 
a subdued whistle from the house and Fudge waved 
to him. 

“Come on,” he called in a cautious whisper. “Fve 
got it. And the sneakers, too.” He glanced a trifle 
apprehensively over his shoulder while he awaited 
Perry’s arrival and when the latter had joined him 
he led the way along the side path in a quiet and un- 
ostentatious manner suggesting a desire to depart 
unobserved. Once out of sight of the house, how- 
ever, his former enthusiasm returned. “We’ll climb 
over the fence,” he announced. “I know a place 
where it isn’t hard. Of course, we ought to have a 
pistol to start with, but I guess it will do if I just 
say ‘Go !’ ” He stopped indecisively. “Gordon has 
a revolver,” he said thoughtfully. “We might bor- 
row it. Only, maybe he isn’t home. I haven’t seen 
him all day.” 

“Never mind, we don’t need it,” said Perry, pull- 
ing him along. “He’d probably want to go along 
with us, Fudge, and I don’t want any audience. I 
dare say I won’t be able to run fast at all.” 

“Well, you mustn’t expect too much the first 
time,” warned the other. “A chap’s got to be in 
condition, you know. You’ll have to train and — and 
all that. Ever do any hurdling?” 

“No, and I don’t think I could.” 

“It isn’t hard once you’ve caught the knack of it. 

9 


THE PURPLE PENNANT 
I was onl/ thinking that if you had plenty of steam 
you might try sprints and hurdles both. All we’d 
have to do would be to set the hurdles up. I know 
where they’re kept. Then ” 

“Now, look here,” laughed Perry, “I’m willing to 
make a fool of myself trying the hundred-yard dash, 
Fudge, but I’m not going to keep you entertained all 
the rest of the afternoon.” 

“All right, we’ll just try the hundred and the 
two-twenty.” 

“No, we won’t either. We’ll just try the hundred. 
Will those shoes fit me? And oughtn’t they to have 
spikes ?” 

“Sure, they ought, but they haven’t. We’ll have 
to make allowance for that, I guess. And they’ll 
have to fit you because they’re all we’ve got. I guess 
you wear about the same size that I do. Here we 
are! Now we’ll go around to the Louise Street 
side; there’s a place there we can climb easily.” 


CHAPTER II 


THE TRY-OUT 

T HE High School Athletic Field — it was offi- 
cially known as Brent Field — occupied two 
whole blocks in the newer part of town. The 
school had used it for a number of years, but only 
last summer, through the generosity of Mr. Jonathan 
Brent, Clearfield’s richest and most prominent citi- 
zen, had it come into actual possession of the field. 
The gift had been as welcome as unexpected and 
had saved the school from the difficult task of finding 
a new location for its athletic activities. But, un- 
fortunately, the possession of a large tract of ground 
in the best residential part of the town was proving 
to have its drawbacks. The taxes were fairly large, 
repairs to stands and fences required a constant out- 
lay, the field itself, while level enough, was far from 
smooth, and the cinder track, a make-shift affair at 
the beginning, stood badly in need of reconstruction. 
Add to these expenses the minor ones of water rent, 
insurance on buildings and care-taking and you will 
ii 


THE PURPLE PENNANT 
see i :he Athletic Association had something to 
thipfcud^ut 

town folks always spoke of it as “the town/* 
altfentgh it was, as a matter of fact, a city and 
boasted of over seventeen thousand inhabitants — 
supported the High School athletic events, notably 
football and baseball, generously enough, but it was 
already evident to those in charge that the receipts 
from gridiron and diamond attractions would barely 
keep the field as it was and would not provide money 
for improvements. There had been some talk of 
an endowment fund from Mr. Brent, but whether 
that gentleman had ever said anything to warrant 
.the rumor or whether it had been started by some- 
one more hopeful than veracious was a matter for 
speculation. At any rate, no endowment fund had 
so far materialized and the Athletic Committee’s 
finances were at a low ebb. Two sections of grand- 
stand had been replaced in the fall, and that im- 
provement promised to be the last for some time, 
unless, as seemed improbable, the Committee evolved 
some plan whereby to replenish its treasury. Various 
schemes had been suggested, such as a public canvass 
of the town and school. To this, however, Mr. 
Grayson, the Principal, had objected. It was not, 
he declared, right to ask the citizens to contribute 
funds for such a purpose. Nor would he allow a 


12 


THE TRY-OUT 

petition to the Board of Education. In 1 Mr. 
Grayson as good as said that now that the sc 1 had 
been generously presented with an athletic :ld it 
was up to the school to look after it. Raising i ney 
amongst the students he had no objection to, but 
the amount obtainable in that manner was too small 
to make it worth while. The plan of raising the 
price of admission to baseball and football from 
twenty-five cents to fifty was favored by some, while 
others feared that it would keep so many away from 
the contests that there would be no profit in it. In 
short, the Committee was facing a difficult problem 
and with no solution in sight. And the field, from 
its patched, rickety, high board fence to grandstands 
and dressing-rooms, loudly demanded succor. Fudge 
voiced the general complaint when, having without 
difficulty mounted the fence and dropped to the 
soggy turf inside, followed more lithely by Perry 
Hull, he viewed the cinder track with disfavor. The 
recent rain had flooded it from side to side, and, 
since it was lower than the ground about it and 
had been put down with little or no provision for 
drainage, inch-deep puddles still lingered in the nu- 
merous depressions. 

“We can’t practice here,” said Perry. 

“Wouldn’t that agonize you?” demanded Fudge. 
“Gee, what’s the good of having an athletic field 
13 


THE PURPLE PENNANT 
if you can’t keep it up? This thing is g-g-going to 
be a regular w-w-white elephant!” 

“It looks pretty soppy, doesn’t it?” asked Perry. 
“I guess we’d better wait until it’s drier. I don’t 
mind running, but I wasn’t counting on having to 
swim !” 

“Maybe it’s better on the straightaway',” re- 
sponded Fudge more cheerfully. “We’ll go over 
and see.” 

As luck had it, it was drier on the far side of the 
field, and Fudge advanced the plea that by keeping 
close to the outer board Perry could get along with- 
out splashing much. Perry, however, ruefully con- 
sidered his Sunday trousers and made objections. 

“But it isn’t mud,” urged Fudge. “It’s just a 
little water. That won’t hurt your trousers a bit. 
And you can reef them up some, too. Be a sport, 
Pen*}"! Gee, I’d do it in a minute if I could!” 

“Guess that’s about what I’ll do it in,” said the 
other. “Well, all right. Here goes. Give me the 
sneakers.” 

“Here they are. Guess we’d better go down to 
the seats and change them, though. It’s too damp 
to sit down here.” 

So they walked to the grandstand at the turn and 
Perry pulled off his boots and tried the sneakers 
on. They were a little too large, but he thought they 
14 


THE TRY-OUT 


would do. Fudge suggested stuffing some paper in 
the toes, but as there was no paper handy that plan 
was abandoned. Perry’s hat, coat and vest were 
laid beside his boots and he turned up the bottoms of 
his trousers. Then they walked along the track, 
skirting puddles or jumping over them. Fortunately, 
they had the field to themselves, thanks to locked 
gates, something Perry was thankful for when 
Fudge, discouraging his desire to have the event 
over with at once, insisted that he should prance up 
and down the track and warm up. 

“You can’t run decently until you’ve got your 
legs warm and your muscles limber,” declared 
Fudge wisely. “And you’d better try a few starts, 
too.” 

So, protestingly, Perry danced around where 
he could find a dry stretch, lifting his knees high 
in the manner illustrated by Fudge, and then al- 
lowed the latter to show him how to crouch for the 
start. 

“Put your right foot up to the line,” instructed 
Fudge. “Here, I’ll scratch a line across for you. 
There. Now put your foot up to that — your right 
foot, silly! That’s your left! Now put your left 
knee alongside it and your hands down. That’s it, 
only you want to dig a bit of a hole back there for 
your left foot, so you’ll get away quick. Just scrape 
15 


THE PURPLE PENNANT 

out the cinders a little. All right. Now when I 
say 'Set/ you come up and lean forward until the 
weight comes on your front foot and hands; most 
on your foot; your hands are just to steady your- 
self with. That’s the trick. Now then; 'On your 
mark !’ Wait ! I didn’t say 'Set !’ ” 

“Oh, well, cut out the trimmings,” grumbled 
Perry. “I can’t stay like this forever. Besides, I’d 
rather start on the other foot, anyway.” 

“All right; some fellows do,” replied Fudge, un- 
troubled, neglecting to explain that he had made 
a mistake. Perry made the change and expressed 
his satisfaction. 

“That’s more like it. Say, how do you happen to 
know so much about it, Fudge?” 

“Observation, son. Now, all right? Ready to 
try it? Set! . . . Go!” 

Perry went, but he stumbled for the first three or 
four steps and lost his stride completely. 

“You had your weight on your hands instead of 
your feet,” commented the instructor. “Try it 
again.” 

He tried it many times, at last becoming quite 
interested in the problem of getting away quickly and 
steadily, and finally Fudge declared himself satisfied. 
“Now I’ll stand back here a ways where I can start 
you and at the same time see when you cross the line 
16 


THE TRY-OUT 

down there. Of course, we ought to have another 
fellow here to help, but I guess I can manage all 
right.” He set his stop-watch, composed his fea- 
tures into a stern frown and retired some twenty- 
yards back from the track and half that distance 
nearer the finish line. “On your mark!” called 
Fudge. “Set! . . . Go!” 

Perry sped from the mark only to hear Fudge’s 
arresting voice. “Sorry, Perry, but I forgot to 
start the watch that time. Try it again.” 

“That’s a fine trick! I had a bully getaway,” 
complained the sprinter. “Make it good this time, 
Fudge; I’m getting dog-tired!” 

“I will. Now, then! On your mark! . . . Set! 
. . . Go!” 

Off leaped Perry again, not quite so nicely this 
time, and down the wet path he sped, splashing 
through the puddles, head back, legs twinkling. 
And, as though trying to make pace for him, Fudge 
raced along on the turf in a valiant endeavor to 
judge the finish. Perry’s Sunday trousers made a 
gray streak across the line, Fudge pressed con- 
vulsively on the stem of the watch and the trial 
was over ! 

“Wh-what was it?” inquired Perry breathlessly 
as he walked back. Fudge was staring puzzledly at 
the dial. 


17 


THE PURPLE PENNANT 

“I made it twelve seconds,” he responded du- 
biously. 

“Twelve ! And you said I’d ought to do it under 
eleven!” Perry viewed him discouragedly. 

“Well, maybe I didn’t snap it just when I should 
have,” said the timer. “It’s hard to see unless you’re 
right at the line.” 

“You must have! I’ll bet anything I did it better 
than twelve. Don’t you think I did ?” 

“Well, it looked to me as if you were going pretty 
fast,” answered Fudge cautiously. “But those trou- 
sers, and not having any spikes, and the track being 
so wet — Gee, but you did get splashed, didn’t you ?” 

“I should say so,” replied Perry, observing his 
trousers disgustedly. “The water even went into 
my face! Say, let’s try it again, Fudge, and you 
stand here at the finish.” 

“All right, but how’ll I start you?” 

“Wave a handkerchief or something?” 

“I’ve got it. I’ll clap a couple of sticks together.” 
So Fudge set out to find his sticks while Perry, 
rather winded, seated himself on the stand. Fudge 
finally came back with the required articles and 
Perry declared himself rested and ready for an- 
other trial. “I’ll clap the sticks together first for you 
to get set and then for the start. Like this.” Fudge 
illustrated. “Suppose you can hear it?” 

18 





m 


■ 


w 








“ ‘Oi{ your mark ! . . . 


• # • 




Set! 


Go !’ ” 








THE TRY-OUT 

“Sure.” Perry proceeded back to the beginning 
of the straightaway and Fudge stationed himself at 
the finish, scuffling a line across the track for his 
better guidance. Then, while the sprinter was get- 
ting his crouch, he experimented with slapping the 
sticks and snapping the watch at the same instant, 
a rather difficult proceeding. 

“All ready !” shouted Perry, poised on finger-tips 
and knee. 

“All right!” called Fudge in response. He ex- 
amined his watch, fixed a finger over the stem, took 
a deep breath and clapped the sticks. Perry set. 
Another clap and a simultaneous jab at the watch, 
and Perry was racing down the track. Fudge’s eyes 
took one fleeting look at the runner and then fixed 
themselves strainedly on the line he had drawn 
across the cinders. Nearer and nearer came the 
scrunch of the flying sneakers, there was a sud- 
den blur of gray in Fudge’s vision and he snapped 
the watch. Perry turned and trotted anxiously 
back. 

“Well?” he asked. 

“Better,” replied Fudge. “Of course, the track’s 
awfully slow ” 

“How much? Let’s see?” 

Fudge yielded the watch and Perry examined it. 
“Eleven and two-fifths!” he shouted protestingly. 

19 


THE PURPLE PENNANT 
“Say, this thing’s crazy! I know mighty well I 
didn’t run nearly so fast as I did the first time !” 

“I didn’t snap it soon enough the other time,” 
explained Fudge. “Honest, Perry, eleven and two- 
fifths isn’t half bad. Why, look at the slow track 
and your long trousers ” 

“Yes, and they weigh a ton, they’re so wet,” 
grumbled Perry. “And so do these shoes. I’m 
going to try it some time when the track’s dry 
and I’ve got regular running things on. I suppose 
eleven and two-fifths isn’t terribly bad, consider- 
ing!” 

“Bad! It’s mighty good,” said Fudge warmly. 
“Why, look here, Perry, if you can do it in that 
time to-day you can do it nearly a second faster on 
a dry track and — and all! You see if you can’t. 
I’ll bet you you’ll be a regular sprinter by the time 
we meet Springdale!” 

“Honest, Fudge?” 

“Honest to goodness! To-morrow you put your 
name down for the Track Team and get yourself 
some running things. I’ll go along with you if 
you like. I know just what you ought to have.” 

“I don’t suppose I’ll really have any show for 
the team,” said Perry modestly. “But it’ll be pretty 
good fun. Say, Fudge, I didn’t know I could run 
as fast as I did that first time. It seemed to me I 


20 


THE TRY-OUT 

was going like the very dickens! It — it's mighty 
interesting, isn’t it?” 

“Yes,” replied Fudge, as Perry donned his things. 
“You don’t want to try the two-twenty or the hur- 
dles, do you ?” 

“I should say not! I’m tuckered out. I’m going 
to try the two-twenty some day, though. I don’t 
think I’d care about hurdling.” 

“You can’t tell,” murmured Fudge thoughtfully. 

Later, when they had once more surmounted the 
fence and were heading toward B Street, Fudge, 
who had said little for many minutes, observed: 
“I wonder, Perry, if a fellow wouldn’t have more 
fun with the Track Team than with the Nine. I’ve 
a good mind to go in for it.” 

“Why don’t you?” asked Perry, encouragingly 
eager. “What would you try? Running or — or 
what?” His gaze unconsciously strayed over his 
friend’s rotund figure. 

“N-no,” replied Fudge hesitantly. “I don’t think 
so. I might go in for the mile, maybe. I don’t 
know yet. I’m just thinking of it. I’d have to 
study a bit. Perhaps the weights would be my 
line. Ever put the shot?” Perry shook his head. 
“Neither have I, but I’ll bet I could. All it takes is 
practice. Say, wouldn’t it be funny if you and I 
both made the team?” 


21 


THE PURPLE PENNANT 

“It would be dandy/' declared Perry, 
suppose there’d be any chance of it?” 
“Why not?” asked Fudge cheerfully. 




“Do you 


CHAPTER III 


THE SHADOW ON THE CURTAIN 

T HE two boys parted at Main and B Streets, 
Fudge to loiter thoughtfully southward un- 
der the budding maples and Perry to continue 
briskly on along the wider thoroughfare to where, 
almost at the corner of G Street, a small yellow 
house stood in a diminutive yard behind a decaying 
picket fence. Over the gate, which had stood open 
ever since Perry had grown too old to enjoy swing- 
ing on it, was a square lantern supported on an iron 
arch. At night a dim light burned in it, calling the 
passer's attention to the lettering on the front: 

No. 7 — Dr. Hull — Office. 

Beside the front door a second sign proclaimed 
the house to be the abode of Matthew P. Hull, M. D. 

Nearby was an old-fashioned bell-pull and, just 
below it, a more modern button. Above the latter 
were the words “Night Bell.” The house looked 

23 


THE PURPLE PENNANT 
homelike and scrupulously clean, but evidences of 
disrepair were abundant. The bases of the four 
round pillars supporting the roof of the porch which 
ran across the front were rotting, the steps creaked 
ominously under Perry's feet and the faded yellow 
paint was blistered and cracked. 

Dr. Hull only rented the house, and the owner, 
since the retail business district had almost sur- 
rounded it and he expected to soon sell, was ex- 
tremely chary of repairs. Perry’s father had lived 
there so long that he hated the thought of moving. 
He had grown very fond of the place, a fondness 
Shared to a lesser extent by Mrs. Hull and scarcely 
at all by Perry. But Dr. Hull’s motives in remain- 
ing there were not wholly sentimental. He had 
slowly and arduously accumulated a fair practice 
and, now that the town was over-supplied with phy- 
sicians, he feared that a change of location would 
lose him his clients. Dr. Hull was not an old man, 
but he was forty-odd and rather of the old-style, and 
shook his head over the pushing methods of the 
newcomers. Perry assured him that it would be a 
good thing if he did lose some of his present prac- 
tice, since half of it brought him little or no money, 
and that in a better location he could secure a better 
class of patients. But Perry wasn’t very certain 
of this, while his mother, who sighed secretly for 

24 


THE SHADOW ON THE CURTAIN 

a home where the plaster didn’t crumble nor the 
doors creak, had even less faith in the Doctor’s abil- 
ity to begin over again. 

Perry glanced through the open door of the tiny 
waiting room on the left as he hung up his cap and, 
finding it empty and the further door ajar, knew 
that his father was out. He went on up the stairs, 
which complained at almost every footfall, and stole 
noiselessly down the narrow hall to his own room. 
His mother’s door was closed and this was the hour 
when, on Sundays, she enjoyed what she termed 
“forty winks.” Perry’s room was small and lighted 
by three narrow windows set close together. While 
they admitted light they afforded but little view, for 
beyond the shallow back-yard loomed the side wall 
of a five-storied brick building which fronted on G 
Street. Directly on a level with Perry’s windows 
was Curry’s Glove factory, occupying the second 
floor of the building. Below was a bakery. Above 
were offices; a dentist’s, a lawyer’s, and several 
that were empty or changed tenants so frequently 
that Perry couldn’t keep track of them. In win- 
ter the light that came through the three win- 
dows was faint and brief, but at other seasons 
the sunlight managed somehow to find its way 
there. This afternoon a golden ray still lingered 
on the table, falling athwart the strapped pile of 
25 


THE PURPLE PENNANT 
school books and spilling over to the stained green 
felt. 

Perry seated himself at the table, put an elbow 
beside the pile of books and, cupping chin in hand, 
gazed thoughtfully down into the yard. There was 
a lean and struggling lilac bush against one high 
fence and its green leaves were already unfolding. 
That, reflected the boy, meant that spring was really 
here again at last. It was already nearly the middle 
of April. Then came May and June, and then the 
end of school. He sighed contentedly at the thought. 
Not that he didn’t get as much pleasure out of school 
as most fellows, but there comes a time, when buds 
are swelling and robins are hopping and breezes 
blow warmly, when the idea of spending six hours 
of the finest part of the day indoors becomes ex- 
tremely distasteful. And that time had arrived. 

Perry turned to glance with sudden hostility at 
the piled-up books. What good did it do a fellow, 
anyway, to learn a lot of Latin and algebra and 
physics and — and all the rest of the stuff? If he 
only knew what he was going to be when he grew 
up it might save a lot of useless trouble! Until a 
year ago he had intended to follow in his father’s 
footsteps, but of late the profession of medicine had 
failed to hold his enthusiasm. It seemed to him 
that doctors had to work very hard and long for 
26 


THE SHADOW ON THE CURTAIN 


terribly scant returns in the way of either money 
or fame. No, he wouldn't be a doctor. Lawyers 
had a far better time of it; so did bankers and — 
and almost everyone. Sometimes he thought that 
engineering was the profession for him. He would 
go to Boston or New York and enter a technical 
school and learn civil or mining engineering. Min- 
ing engineers especially had a fine, adventurous life 
of it. And he wouldn’t have to spend all the rest 
of his life in Clearfield then. 

Clearfield was all right, of course ; Perry had been 
born in it and was loyal to it ; but there was a whole 
big lot of the world that he’d like to see! He got 
up and pulled an atlas from the lower shelf of his 
book-case and spread it open. Colorado ! Arizona ! 
Nevada! Those were names for you! And look 
at all the territory out there that didn’t have a mark 
on it! Prairies and deserts and plateaus! Miles 
and miles and miles of them without a town or a 
railroad or anything ! Gee, it would be great to live 
in that part of the world, he told himself. Adven- 
tures would be thick as blueberries out there. Back 
here nothing ever happened to a fellow. He won- 
dered if it would be possible to persuade his father 
to move West, to some one of those fascinating 
towns with the highly romantic names; like Man- 
zanola or Cotopaxi or Painted Rock. His thoughts 
27 


THE PURPLE PENNANT * 
were far afield now and, while his gaze was fixed 
on the lilac bush below, his eyes saw wonderful 
scenes that were very, very foreign to Clearfield. 
The sunlight stole away from the windows and the 
shadows gathered in the little yard. The room 
grew dark. 

Just how long Perry would have sat there and 
dreamed of far-spread prairies and dawn-flushed 
deserts and awesome canons had not an interrup- 
tion occurred, there’s no saying. Probably, though, 
until his mother summoned him to the Sunday night 
supper. And that, since it was a frugal repast of 
cold dishes and awaited the Doctor’s presence, might 
not have been announced until seven o’clock. What 
did rouse him from his dreaming was the sudden ap- 
pearance of a light in one of the third floor windows 
of the brick building. It shone for a moment only, 
for a hand almost immediately pulled down a shade, 
but its rays were bright enough to interrupt the boy’s 
visions and bring his thoughts confusedly back. 

When you’ve been picturing yourself a cowboy 
on the Western plains, a cowboy with a picturesque 
broad-brimmed sombrero, leather chaps, a flannel 
shirt and a handkerchief knotted about your neck, 
it is naturally a bit surprising to suddenly see just 
such a vision before your eyes. And that’s what 
happened to Perry. No sooner was the shade drawn 
28 


THE SHADOW ON THE CURTAIN 
at the opposite window than upon it appeared the 
silhouette of as cowboyish a cowboy as ever rode 
through sage-brush ! Evidently the light was in the 
center of the room and the occupant was standing 
between light and window, standing so that for a 
brief moment his figure was thrown in sharp relief 
against the shade, and Perry, staring unbelievingly, 
saw the black shadow of a broad felt hat whose 
crown was dented to a pyramid shape, a face with 
clean-cut features and a generous mustache and, 
behind the neck, the knot of a handkerchief ! Doubt- 
less the flannel shirt was there, too, and, perhaps, 
the leather cuffs properly decorated with porcupine 
quills, but Perry couldn't be sure of this, for before 
he had time to look below the knotted bandana the 
silhouette wavered, lengthened oddly and faded from 
sight, leaving Perry for an instant doubtful of his 
vision ! 

“Now what do you know about that?” he mur- 
mured. “A regular cowboy, by ginger ! What's he 
doing over there, I wonder. And here I was think- 
ing about him! Anyway, about cowboys! Gee, 
that’s certainly funny! I wish I could have seen 
if he wore a revolver on his hip! Maybe he’ll come 
back.” 

But he didn't show himself again, although Perry 
sat on in the darkness of his little room for the 
29 


THE PURPLE PENNANT 
better part of a half-hour, staring eagerly and fas- 
cinatedly at the lighted window across the twilight. 
The shade still made a yellowish oblong in the sur- 
rounding gloom of the otherwise blank wall when 
his mother’s voice came to him from below sum- 
moning him to supper and he left his vigil unwill- 
ingly and went downstairs. 

Dr. Hull had returned and supper was waiting on 
the red cloth that always adorned the table on Sun- 
day nights. Perry was so full of his strange coin- 
cidence that he hardly waited for the Doctor to finish 
saying grace before he told about the vision. Rather 
to his disappointment, neither his father nor mother 
showed much interest, but perhaps that was because 
he neglected to tell them that he had been thinking 
of cowboys at the time. There was no spe- 
cial reason why he should have told them other 
than that he suspected his mother of a lack 
of sympathy on the subject of cowboys and the 
Wild West. 

“I guess,” said the Doctor, helping to the cold 
roast lamb and having quite an exciting chase along 
the back of the platter in pursuit of a runaway sprig 
of parsley, “I guess your cowboy would have looked 
like most anyone else if you’d had a look at him. 
Shadows play queer tricks, Perry.” 

Dr. Hull was tall and thin, and he stooped quite 
30 


THE SHADOW ON THE CURTAIN 
perceptibly. Perhaps the stoop came from carrying 
his black bag about day after day, for the Doctor 
had never attained to the dignity of a carriage. 
When he had to have one he hired it from Stewart, 
the liveryman. He had a kindly face, but he us- 
ually looked tired and had a disconcerting habit of 
dropping off to sleep in the middle of a conversa- 
tion or, not infrequently, half-way through a meal. 
Perry was not unlike his father as to features. He 
had the same rather short and very straight nose 
and the same nice mouth, but he had obtained his 
brown eyes from his mother. Dr. Hull's eyes were 
pale blue-gray and he had a fashion of keeping them 
only a little more than half open, which added to his 
appearance of weariness. He always dressed in a 
suit of dark clothes which looked black without 
actually being black. For years he had had his suits 
made for him by the same unstylish little tailor 
who dwelt, like a spider in a hole, under the Union 
Restaurant on Common Street. Whether the suits, 
one of which was made every spring, all came off 
the same bolt of cloth, I can’t say, but it’s a fact 
that Mrs. Hull had to study long to make out which 
was this year’s suit and which last’s. On Sunday 
evenings, however, the Doctor donned a faded and 
dearly-loved house-jacket of black velveteen with 
frayed silk frogs, for on Sunday evenings he kept 
3i 


THE PURPLE PENNANT 
no consultation hours and made no calls if he could 
possibly help it. 

In spite of Perry’s efforts, the cowboy was soon 
abandoned as a subject for conversation. The Doc- 
tor was satisfied that Perry had imagined the like- 
ness and Mrs. Hull couldn’t see why a cowboy hadn’t 
as much right in the neighboring building as anyone. 
Perry’s explanations failed to convince her of the 
incongruity of a cowboy in Clearfield, for she re- 
plied mildly that she quite distinctly remembered 
having seen at least a half-dozen cowboys going 
along Main Street a year or two before, the time 
the circus was in town! 

“Maybe,” chuckled the Doctor, “this cowboy got 
left behind then !” 

Perry refused to accept the explanation, and as 
soon as supper was over he hurried upstairs again. 
But the light across the back-yard was out and he 
returned disappointedly to the sitting-room, con- 
vinced that the mystery would never be explained. 
His father had settled himself in the green rep easy 
chair, with his feet on a foot-rest, and was smoking 
his big meerschaum pipe that had a bowl shaped like 
a skull. The Doctor had had that pipe since his 
student days, and Perry suspected that, next to his 
mother and himself, it was the most prized of the 
Doctor’s possessions. The Sunday papers lay spread 
32 


THE SHADOW ON THE CURTAIN 
across his knees, but he wasn’t reading, and Perry 
seized on the opportunity presented to broach the 
matter of going in for the Track Team. There had 
been some difficulty in the fall in persuading his 
parents to consent to his participation in football, 
and he wasn’t sure that they would look any more 
kindly on other athletic endeavors. His mother was 
still busy in the kitchen, for he could hear the dishes 
rattling, and he was glad of it '; it was his mother who 
looked with most disfavor on such things. 

“Dad, I’m going to join the Track Team and try 
sprinting,” announced Perry carelessly. 

The Doctor brought his thoughts back with a visi- 
ble effort. 

“Eh?” he asked. “Join what?” 

“The Track Team, sir. At school. I think I can 
sprint a little and I’d like to try it. Maybe I won’t 
be good enough, but Fudge Shaw says I am, 
and ” 

“Sprinting, eh?” The Doctor removed his pipe 
and rubbed the bowl carefully with the purple silk 
handkerchief that reposed in an inner pocket of his 
house- jacket. “Think you’re strong enough for 
that, do you?” 

“Why, yes, sir! I tried it to-day and didn’t have 
any trouble. And the track was awfully wet, 
too.” 


33 


THE PURPLE PENNANT 

“To-day?” The Doctor’s brows went up. “Sun- 
day?” 

Perry hastened to explain and was cheered by a 
slight smile which hovered under his father’s droop- 
ing mustache when he pictured Fudge trying to 
be at both ends of the hundred-yards at once. “You 
see, dad, I can’t play baseball well enough, and I’d 
like to do something. I ought to anyway, just to 
keep in training for football next autumn. I 
wouldn’t wonder if I got to be regular quarter-back 
next season.” 

“Sprinting,” observed the Doctor, tucking his 
handkerchief out of sight again, “makes big demands 
on the heart muscles, Perry. I’ve no reason for sup- 
posing that your heart isn’t as strong as the average, 
but I recall in my college days a case where a boy 
over-worked himself in a race, the quarter-mile, I 
think it was, and never was good for much after- 
wards. He was in my class, and his name was — 
dear, dear, now what was it? Well, it doesn’t mat- 
ter. Anyway, that’s what you’ll have to guard 
against, Perry.” 

“But if I began mighty easy, the way you do, and 

worked up to it, sir ” 

Oh, I dare say it won’t hurt you. Exercise in 
moderation is always beneficial. It’s putting sudden 
demands on yourself that does the damage. With 
34 


THE SHADOW ON THE CURTAIN 


proper training, going at it slowly, day by day, you 
know — well, we’ll see what your mother says.” 

Perry frowned and moved impatiently on the 
couch. “Yes, sir, but you know mother always finds 
objections to my doing things like that. You’d think 
I was a regular invalid! Other fellows run and 
jump and play football and their folks don’t think 
anything of it. But mother ” 

“Come, come, Perry! That’ll do, son. Your 
mother is naturally anxious about you. You see, 
there’s only one of you, and we — well, we don’t want 
any harm to come to you.” 

“Yes, sir,” said Perry, more meekly. “Only I 
thought if you’d say it was all right, before she 
comes in ” 

The Doctor chuckled. “Oh, that’s your little 
game, is it? No, no, we’ll talk it over with your 
mother. She’s sensible, Perry, and I dare say she 
won’t make any objections; that is, if you promise 
to be careful.” 

“Yes, sir. Why, there’s a regular trainer, you 
know, and the fellows have to do just as he tells 
them to.” 

“Who is the trainer?” 

“ ‘Skeet’ Presser, sir. He’s ” 

“Skeet?” 

“That’s what they call him. He’s small and 

35 


THE PURPLE PENNANT 
skinny, sort of like a mosquito. I guess that's why. 
I don't know what his real name is. He used to be 
a runner; a jim-dandy, too, they say. He's trainer 
at the Y. M. C. A. I guess he’s considered pretty 
good. And very careful, sir." Perry added that as 
a happy afterthought. 

The Doctor smiled. “I guess we ought to make 
a diplomat out of you, son, instead of a doctor." 

“I don’t think I’ll be a doctor, dad." 

“You don't? I thought you did." 

“I used to, but I — I’ve sort of changed my mind." 

“Diplomats do that, too, I believe. Well, I dare 
say you're right about it. It doesn't look as if I'd 
have much of a practice to hand over to you, any- 
way. It's getting so nowadays about every second 
case is a charity case. About all you get is gratitude, 
and not always that. Here’s your mother now. 
Mother, this boy wants to go in for athletics, he tells 
me. Wants to run races and capture silver mugs. 
Or maybe they’re pewter. What do you say to it?" 

“Gracious, what for?" ejaculated Mrs. Hull. 

Perry stated his case again while his mother took 
the green tobacco jar from the mantel and placed 
it within the Doctor’s reach, plumped up a pillow 
on the couch, picked a thread from the worn red 
carpet and finally, with a little sigh, seated herself 
in the small walnut rocker that was her especial 
36 


THE SHADOW ON THE CURTAIN 

properly. When Perry had finished, his mother 
looked across at the Doctor. 

“What does your father think?” she asked. 

“Oh, I think it won’t do him any harm,” was the 
reply from the Doctor. “Might be good for him, 
in fact. I tell him he must be careful not to attempt 
too much at first, that’s all. Running is good exer- 
cise if it isn’t overdone.” 

“Well, it seems to me,” observed Mrs. Hull, “that 
if he can play football and not get maimed for life, 
a little running can’t hurt him. How far would it 
be. Perry?” 

“Oh, only about from here to the corner and 
back.” 

“Well, I don’t see much sense in it, but if you 
want to do it I haven’t any objection. It doesn’t 
seem as if much could happen to you just running 
to G Street and back !” 

The Doctor chuckled. “It might be good practice 
when it comes to running errands, mother. Maybe 
he’ll be able to get to the grocery and back the same 
afternoon !” 

“Well,” laughed Perry, “you see, dad, when 
you’re running on the track you don’t meet fellows 
who want you to stop and play marbles with them !” 


CHAPTER IV 


THE ODE TO SPRING 

W ITH the advent of that first warm spring- 
like weather the High School athletic ac- 
tivities began in earnest. During March 
the baseball candidates had practiced to some extent 
indoors and occasionally on the field, but not a great 
deal had been accomplished. The “cage” in the base- 
ment of the school building was neither large nor 
light, while cold weather, with rain and wet ground, 
had made outdoor work far from satisfactory. Of 
the Baseball Team, Clearfield had high hopes this 
spring. There was a wealth of material left from 
the successful Nine of the previous spring, including 
two first-class pitchers, while the captain, Warner 
Jones, was a good leader as well as a brainy player. 
Then too, and in the judgment of the school this 
promised undoubted success, the coaching had been 
placed in the hands of Dick Lovering. Dick had 
proven his ability as a baseball coach the summer 
before and had subsequently piloted the football 
38 


THE ODE TO SPRING 

team to victory in the fall, thus winning an admira- 
tion and gratitude almost embarrassing to him. 

Dick, who had to swing about on crutches where 
other fellows went on two good legs, came out of 
school Monday afternoon in company with Lansing 
White and crossed over to Linden Street where a 
small blue runabout car stood at the curb. Dick was 
tall, with dark hair and eyes. Without being espe- 
cially handsome, his rather lean face was attractive 
and he had a smile that won friends on the instant. 
Dick was seventeen and a senior. Lansing, or 
Lanny, White was a year younger, and a good deal 
of a contrast to his companion. Lanny fairly radi- 
ated health and strength and high spirits. You're 
not to conclude that Dick suggested ill-health or 
that he was low-spirited, for that would be far from 
the mark. There was possibly no more cheerful boy 
in Clearfield than Richard Lovering, in spite of his 
infirmity. But Lanny, with his flaxen hair and dark 
eyes — a combination as odd as it was attractive — 
and his sun-browned skin and his slimly muscular 
figure, looked the athlete he was, every inch of him. 
Lanny was a “three-letter man” at the High School ; 
had captained the football team, caught on the nine 
and was a sprinter of ability. And, which was no 
small attainment, he possessed more friends than 
any other fellow in school. Lanny couldn't help 
39 


THE PURPLE PENNANT 
making friends; he appeared to do it without con- 
scious effort ; there had never been on his part any 
seeking for popularity. 

Lanny cranked the car and seated himself beside 
Dick. Fully half the students were journeying to- 
ward the field, either to take part in practice or to 
watch it, and the two boys in the runabout answered 
many hails until they had distanced the pedestrians. 

“This,” said Lanny, as they circumspectly crossed 
the car-tracks and turned into Main Street, “is just 
the sort of weather the doctor ordered. If it keeps 
up we’ll really get started.” 

“This is April, though,” replied Dick, “and every- 
one knows April !” 

“Oh, we’ll have more showers, but once the field 
gets dried out decently they don’t matter. I sup- 
pose it’ll be pretty squishy out there to-day. What 
we ought to do, Dick, is have the whole field rolled 
right now while it’s still soft. It’s awfully rough in 
right field, and even the infield isn’t what you’d call 
a billiard table.” 

“Wish we could, Lanny. But I guess if we get 
the base paths fixed up we’ll get all that’s coming 
to us this spring. Too bad we haven’t a little money 
on hand.” 

“Oh, I know we can’t look to the Athletic Asso- 
ciation for much. I was only wondering if we 
40 


THE ODE TO SPRING 

couldn’t get it done somehow ourselves. If we knew 
someone who had a steam roller we might borrow 
it!” 

“The town has a couple,” laughed Dick, “but I’m 
afraid they wouldn’t loan them.” 

“Why not? Say, that’s an idea, Dick! Who 
do you borrow town property from, anyway? The 
Mayor?” 

“Street Department, I guess. Tell Way to go and 
see them, why don’t you?” 

“Way” was Curtis Wayland, manager of the 
baseball team. Lanny smiled. “Joking aside,” he 
said, “they might do it, mightn’t they? Don’t they 
ever loan things?” 

“Maybe, but you’d have to have the engineer or 
chauffeur or whatever they call him to run it for you, 
and that would be a difficulty.” 

“Pshaw, anyone could run a steam roller! You 
could, anyway.” 

“Can’t you see me?” chuckled Dick. “Suppose, 
though, I got nabbed for exceeding the speed limit ? 
I guess, Lanny, if that field gets rolled this spring 
it will be done by old-fashioned man-power. We 
might borrow a roller somewhere and get a lot 
of the fellows out and have them take turns push- 
ing it.” 

“It would take a week of Sundays,” replied 

4i 


THE PURPLE PENNANT 
Lanny discouragingly. “You wait. Fm not finished 
with that other scheme yet.” 

“Borrowing a roller from the town, you mean? 
Well, I've no objection, but don’t ask me to run it. 
I’d be sure to put it through the fence or something ; 
and goodness knows we need all the fence we’ve 
got!” 

“Yes, it’ll be a miracle if it doesn’t fall down if 
anyone hits a ball against it !” 

“If it happens in the Springdale game you’ll 
hear no complaint from me,” said Dick, adding 
hurriedly, “That is, if it’s one of our team who 
does it!” 

“Ever think of putting a sign on the fence in 
center field?” asked Lanny. “‘Hit This Sign and 
Get Ten Dollars,’ or something of that sort, you 
know. It might increase the team’s average a lot, 
Dick.” 


“You’re full of schemes to-day, aren’t you ? Does 
that fence look to you as if it would stand being 
hit very often?” They had turned into A Street 
and the block-long expanse of sagging ten-foot fence 
stretched beside them. “I’ve about concluded that 
being presented with an athletic field is like getting 
a white elephant in your stocking at Christmas !” 

“Gee, this field is two white elephants and a pink 
hippopotamus,” replied Lanny as he jumped out in 


42 


THE ODE TO SPRING 

front of the players’ gate. Dick turned off the 
engine and thoughtfully removed the plug from the 
dash coil, thus foiling youngsters with experimental 
desires. His crutches were beside him on the run- 
ning-board, and, lifting them from the wire clips 
that held them there, he deftly swung himself from 
the car and passed through the gate. They were the 
first ones to arrive, but before they had returned 
to the dressing-room under the nearer grandstand 
after a pessimistic examination of the playing field, 
others had begun to dribble in and a handful of 
youths were arranging themselves comfortably on 
the seats behind first base. But if the audience 
expected anything of a spectacular nature this after- 
noon they were disappointed, for the practice was of 
the most elementary character. 

There was a half-hour at the net with Tom Nos- 
trand and Tom Haley pitching straight balls to the 
batters and then another half-hour of fielding, Bert 
Cable, last year’s captain and now a sort of self- 
appointed assistant coach, hitting fungoes to out- 
fielders, and Curtis Way land, manager of the team, 
batting to the infield. The forty or fifty onlookers 
in the stands soon lost interest when it was evident 
that Coach Lovering had no intention of staging any 
sort of a contest, and by ones and twos they took 
their departure. Even had they all gone, however, 
43 


THE PURPLE PENNANT 
the field would have been far from empty, for there 
were nearly as many team candidates as spectators 
to-day. More than forty ambitious youths had re- 
sponded to the call and it required all the ingenuity 
of Dick Lovering and Captain Warner Jones to 
give each one a chance. The problem was finally 
solved by sending a bunch of tyros into extreme left 
field, under charge of Manager Way land, where 
they fielded slow grounders and pop-flies and tested 
their throwing arms. 

It was while chasing a ball that had got by him 
that Way noticed a fluttering sheet of paper near 
the cinder track. It had been creased and folded, 
but now lay flat open, challenging curiosity. Way 
picked it up and glanced at it as he returned to his 
place. It held all sorts of scrawls and scribbles, but 
the words “William Butler Shaw,” and the letters 
“W. B. S.,” variously arranged and entwined, were 
frequently repeated. Occupying the upper part of 
the sheet were six or seven lines of what, since the 
last words rhymed with each other, Way concluded 
to be poetry. Since many of the words had been 
scored out and superseded by others, and since the 
writing was none too legible in any case, Way had 
to postpone the reading of the complete poem. He 
stuffed it in his pocket, with a chuckle, and went 
back to amusing his awkward squad. 

44 


THE ODE TO SPRING 

Fudge Shaw sat on the bench between Felker and 
Grover and awaited his turn in the outfield. Fudge 
had played in center some, but he was not quite 
Varsity material, so to speak, and his hopes of mak- 
ing even the second team, which would be formed 
presently, from what coach and captain rejected, 
were not strong. Still, Fudge “liked to stick around 
where things were doing/’ as he expressed it, and he 
accepted his impending fate with philosophy. Be- 
sides, he had more than half made up his mind to 
cast his lot with the Track Team this spring. He 
was discussing the gentle art of putting the twelve- 
pound shot with Guy Felker when Dick summoned 
the outfield trio in and sent Fudge and two others to 
take their places. Fudge trotted out to center and 
set about his task of pulling down Bert Cable’s flies. 
Perhaps his mind was too full of shot-putting to 
allow him to give the needed attention to the work 
at hand. At all events, he managed to judge his first 
ball so badly that it went six feet over his head and 
was fielded in by one of Way’s squad. Way was 
laughing when Fudge turned toward him after 
throwing the ball to the batter. 

“A fellow needs a pair of smoked glasses out 
here,” called Fudge extenuatingly. This, in view 
of the fact that the sun was behind Fudge’s right 
shoulder, was a lamentably poor excuse. Possibly 
45 


THE PURPLE PENNANT 
he realized it, for he added : “My eyes have been 
awfully weak lately. ,, 

Way, meeting the ball gently with his bat and 
causing a wild commotion amongst his fielders, nod- 
ded soberly. “And for many other reasons,” he 
called across. 

“Eh?” asked Fudge puzzled. But there was 
no time for more just then as Bert Cable, observing 
his inattention, meanly shot a long low fly into left 
field, and Fudge, starting late, had to run half-way 
to the fence in order to attempt the catch. Of course 
he missed it and then, when he had chased it down, 
made matters worse by throwing at least twelve feet 
to the left of Cable on the return. The ex-captain 
glared contemptuously and shouted some scathing 
remark that Fudge didn’t hear. After that, he 
got along fairly well, sustaining a bruised finger, 
however, as a memento of the day’s activities. When 
practice was over he trudged back to the dressing- 
room and got into his street clothes. Fortunately, 
most of the new fellows had dressed at home and 
so it was possible to find room in which to squirm 
out of things without collisions. While Fudge was 
lacing his shoes he observed that Way and his par- 
ticular crony, Will Scott, who played third base, 
were unusually hilarious in a far corner of the 


room. 


46 


THE ODE TO SPRING 
But Fudge was unsuspicious, and presently he found 
himself walking home with the pair. 

“Say, this is certainly peachy weather, isn’t it?” 
inquired Will as they turned into B Street. “Aren’t 
you crazy about spring, Way?” 

“Am I? Well, rather! O beauteous spring!” 

“So am I. You know it makes the birds sing in 
the trees.” 

“Sure. And it makes the April breeze to blow.” 

“What’s wrong with you chaps?” asked Fudge 
perplexedly. The strange words struck him as dimly 
familiar but he didn’t yet connect them with their 
source. 

“Fudge,” replied Way sadly, “I fear you have 
no poetry in your soul. Doesn’t the spring awaken 
— er — awaken feelings in your breast? Don’t you 
feel the — the appeal of the sunshine and the singing 
birds and all that?” 

“You’re batty,” said Fudge disgustedly. 

“Now for my part,” said Will Scott, “spring art, 
I ween, the best of all the seasons.” 

“Now you’re saying something,” declared Way 
enthusiastically. “It clothes the earth with 


“And for numerous other reasons,” added Will 
gravely. 

A great light broke on Fudge and his rotund 
47 


THE PURPLE PENNANT 

cheeks took on a vivid tinge. “W-w-what you 
s-s-silly chumps think you’re up to?” he demanded. 
“W-w- where did you g-g-g-get that st-t-t-tuff ?” 

“Stuff!” exclaimed Way protestingly. “That’s 
poetry, Fudge. Gen-oo-ine poetry. Want to hear 
it all?” 

“No, I don’t!” 

But Will had already started declaiming and Way 
chimed in: 

“O Beauteous Spring, thou art, I ween. 

The best of all the Seasons, 

Because you clothe the Earth with green 
And for numerous other reasons!” 

“I hope you ch-cn-choke ; groaned Fudge. 
“W-w-where’d you get it? Who t-t-told you ” 

“Fudge,” replied Way, laughingly, “you shouldn’t 
leave your poetic effusions around the landscape if 
you don’t want them read.” He pulled the sheet of 
paper from his pocket and flaunted it temptingly just 
out of reach. “ ‘You make the birds sing in the 
trees ’ ” 

“ The April breeze to blow,’ ” continued Will. 

“The sun to shine — — ’ What’s the rest of it, 
Fudge? Say, it’s corking! It’s got a swing to it 
that’s simply immense!” 

“And then the sentiment, the poetic feeling!” 
elaborated Will. “How do you do it, Fudge?” 

48 


THE ODE TO SPRING 
“Aw, q-q-quit it, fellows, and g-g-g-give me that !” 
begged Fudge shame- facedly. “ I just did it for 

f-f-fun. It d-d-dropped out of my p-p-p ” 

But “pocket” was too much for Fudge in his 
present state of mind, and he gave up the effort and 
tried to get the sheet of paper away. He succeeded 
finally, by the time they had reached Lafayette 
Street, where their ways parted, and tore it to small 
bits and dropped it into someone’s hedge. Way and 
Will departed joyfully, and until they were out of 
earshot Fudge could hear them declaiming the “Ode 
to Spring.” He went home a prey to a deep de- 
pression. He feared that he had by no means heard 
the last of the unfortunate poetical effort. And, as 
the future proved, his fears were far from ground- 
less. 


CHAPTER V 


PERRY REMEMBERS 

F UDGE had an engagement to go to the mov- 
ing pictures that evening with Perry Hull. 
They put on the new reels on Mondays and 
Fudge was a devoted “first-nighter.” Very shortly 
after supper was over he picked up a book and care- 
lessly strolled toward the hall. 

“Where are you going, William?” asked his 
mother. 

“Over to the library,” replied Fudge, making a 
strong display of the book in his hand. 

“Well, don't stay late. Haven't you any studying 
to do to-night?” 

“No’m, not much. I’ll do it when I come 
back.” 

“Seems to me,” said Mrs. Shaw doubtfully, “it 
would be better to do your studying first.” 

“I don’t feel like studying so soon after supper,” 
returned Fudge plaintively. “I won't be gone very 
long — I guess.” 


50 


PERRY REMEMBERS 

“Very well, dear. Close the door after you. 
It's downright chilly again to-night.” 

“Yes’m.” Fudge slipped his cap to the back of 
his round head and opened the side door. There he 
hesitated. Of course, he was going to the library, 
although he didn’t especially want to, for it was 
many blocks out of his way, but he meant to make 
his visit to that place as short as possible in order 
to call for Perry and reach the theater early enough 
not to miss a single feature of the evening’s pro- 
gram. And he was practically telling a lie. Fudge 
didn’t like that. He felt decidedly uneasy as he 
stood with the door knob in hand. The trouble was 
that his mother didn’t look kindly on moving pic- 
tures. She didn’t consider them harmful, but she 
did think them a waste of time, and was firmly 
convinced that once a month was quite often enough 
for Fudge to indulge his passion for that form of 
entertainment. Fudge had a severe struggle out 
there in the hallway, and I like to think that he would 
have eventually decided to make known his prin- 
cipal destination had not Mrs. Shaw unfortunately 
interrupted his cogitations. 

“William, have you gone?” 

“No’m.” 

“Well, don't hold the door open, please. I feel a 
draft on my feet.” 


5i 


THE PURPLE PENNANT 

“Yes’m.” Fudge slowly closed the do6r, with 
himself on the outside. The die was cast. He tried 
to comfort himself with the assurance that if his 
mother hadn’t spoken just when she did he would 
have asked permission to go to the “movies.” It 
wasn’t his fault. He passed out of the yard whist- 
ling blithely enough, but before he had reached the 
corner the whistle had died away. He wished he 
had told the whole truth. He was more than half 
inclined to go back, but it was getting later every 
minute and he had to walk eight blocks to the library 
and five back to the theater, and it would take him 
several minutes to exchange his book, and Perry 
might not be ready 

Fudge was so intent on all this that he passed the 
front of the Merrick house, on the corner, without, 
as usual, announcing his transit with a certain pe- 
culiar whistle common to him and his friends. He 
walked hurriedly, determinedly, trying to keep his 
thoughts on the pleasure in store, hoping they’d 
have a rattling good melodrama on the bill to-night 
and would present less of the “sentimental rot” than 
was their custom. But Conscience stalked at Fudge’s 
side, and the further he got from home the more 
uncomfortable he felt in his mind; and his thoughts 
refused to stay placed on the “movies.” But while 
he paused in crossing G Street to let one of the big 
52 


PERRY REMEMBERS 

yellow cars trundle past him a splendid idea came 
to him. He would telephone ! There was a booth in 
the library, and if he had a nickel — quick examina- 
tion of his change showed that he was possessed of 
eleven cents beyond the sum required to purchase 
admission to the theater. With a load off his mind, 
he hurried on faster than ever, ran across the li- 
brary grounds with no heed to the “Keep off the 
Grass” signs and simply hurtled through the swing- 
ing green doors. 

It was the work of only a minute or two to seize 
a book from the rack on the counter — it happened 
to be a treatise on the Early Italian Painters, but 
Fudge didn’t care — and make the exchange. The 
assistant librarian looked somewhat surprised at 
Fudge’s choice, but secretly hoped that it indicated 
a departure from the sensational fiction usually 
selected by the boy, and passed the volume across 
to him at last with an approving smile. Fudge was 
too impatient to see the smile, however. The book 
once in his possession, he hurried to the tele- 
phone booth in the outer hall and demanded his 
number. Then a perfectly good five-cent piece 
dropped forever out of his possession and he heard 
his mother’s voice at the other end of the line. 

“This is Fudge. Say, Ma, I thought — I’m at the 
library, Ma, and I got the book I wanted, and I 
53 


THE PURPLE PENNANT 

thought, seeing it’s so early — say, Ma, may I go to 
the movies for a little while?” 

“You intended to go all the time, didn’t you, Wil- 
liam?” came his mother’s voice. 

“Yes’m, but ” 

“Why didn’t you tell me?” 

That was something of a poser. “Well, I meant 
to, but — but you said not to keep the door open and 
— and ” Fudge’s voice dwindled into silence. 

“Why do you tell me now ?” 

Gee, but she certainly could ask a lot of hard 
questions, he reflected. “I thought maybe — oh, I 
don’t know, Ma. May I? Just for a little while? 
I’m going with Perry — if you say I can.” 

“I’d rather you told me in the first place, William, 
but telling me now shows that you know you did 
wrong. You mustn’t tell lies, William, and when 
you said you were going to the library ” 

“Yes’m, I know!” Fudge was shifting impatiently 
from one foot to the other, his eyes fixed on the 
library clock, seen through an oval pane in one of 
the green baize doors. “I — I’m sorry. Honest, I 
am. That’s why I telephoned, Ma.” 

“If I let you go to-night you won’t ask to go again 
next week ?” 

“No’m,” replied Fudge dejectedly. 

“Very well, then you may go. And you needn’t 
54 


PERRY REMEMBERS 

leave before it's over, William, because if you don’t 
go next week you might as well see all you can this 
time.” 

“Yes’m! Thanks! Good-by!” 

Fudge knew a short cut from Ivy Street to G 
Street, and that saved nearly a minute even though 
it necessitated climbing a high fence and trespassing 
on someone’s premises. He reached Perry’s and, 
to his vast relief, found that youth awaiting him at 
the gate. Perry was slightly surprised to be hailed 
from the direction opposite to that in which he was 
looking, but joined Fudge at the corner and, in re- 
sponse to the latter’s earnest and somewhat breath- 
less appeal to “Get a move on,” accompanied him 
rapidly along the next block. Just as they came into 
sight of the brilliantly illumined front of the mov- 
ing picture house, eight o’clock began to sound on 
the City Hall bell and Fudge broke into a run. 

“Come on!” he panted. “We’ll be late!” 

They weren’t, though. The orchestra was still 
dolefully tuning up as they found seats. The or- 
chestra consisted principally of a pianist, although 
four other musicians were arranged lonesomely on 
either side. The two boys were obliged to sit well 
over toward the left of the house and when the or- 
chestra began the overture Fudge’s gaze, attracted 
to the performers, stopped interestedly at the pianist. 
55 


THE PURPLE PENNANT 
“Say, Perry,” he said, “they’ve got a new guy at 
the piano. See?” 

Perry looked and nodded. Then he took a second 
look and frowned puzzledly. “Who is he?” he 
asked. 

“I don’t know. But the other fellow was short 
and fat. Say, I hope they have a good melodrama, 
don’t you?” 

“Yes, one of those Western plays, eh?” Perry’s 
gaze went back to the man at the piano. There was 
something about him that awakened recollection. 
He was a tall, broad-shouldered man of twenty-six 
or -seven, with clear-cut and very good-looking fea- 
tures, and a luxuriant mustache, as Perry could see 
when he turned to smile at one of the violinists. He 
played the piano as though he thoroughly enjoyed 
it, swaying a little from the hips and sometimes em- 
phasizing with a sudden swift bend of his head. 

“He can play all around the other guy,” said 
Fudge in low and admiring whispers. “Wish I could 
play a piano like that. I’ll bet he can ‘rag’ like any- 
thing!” 

At that moment the house darkened and the pro- 
gram commenced with the customary weekly review. 
Fudge sat through some ten minutes of that pa- 
tiently, and was only slightly bored when a rustic 
comedy was unrolled before him, but when the next 
56 


PERRY REMEMBERS 

film developed into what he disdainfully called “one 
of those mushy things,” gloom began to settle over 
his spirits. He squirmed impatiently in his seat and 
muttered protestingly. A sharp- faced, elderly lady 
next to him audibly requested him to “sit still, for 
Mercy’s sake!” Pudge did the best he could and 
virtue was rewarded after a while. “Royston of 
the Rangers,” announced the film. Fudge sat up, 
devoured the cast that followed and, while the or- 
chestra burst into a jovial two-step, nudged Perry 
ecstatically. 

“Here’s your Western play,” he whispered. 

Perry nodded. Then the first scene swept on the 
screen and Fudge was happy. It was a quickly-mov- 
ing, breath-taking drama, and the hero, a Texas 
Ranger, bore a charmed life if anyone ever did. He 
simply had to. If he hadn’t he’d have been dead 
before the film had unrolled a hundred feet! Perry 
enjoyed that play even more than Fudge, perhaps, 
for he was still enthralled by yesterday’s dreams. 
There were rangers and cowboys and Mexicans and 
a sheriff’s posse and many other picturesque per- 
sons, and “battle, murder and sudden death” was 
the order of the day. During a running fight be- 
tween galloping rangers and a band of Mexican des- 
perados Fudge almost squirmed off his chair to 
the floor. After that there was a really funny 
57 


THE PURPLE PENNANT 

“comic” and that, in turn, was followed by another 
melodrama which, if not as hair-raising as the first, 
brought much satisfaction to Fudge. On the whole, 
it was a pretty good show. Fudge acknowledged 
it as he and Perry wormed their way out through 
the loitering audience at the end of the performance. 

They discussed it as they made their way along 
to Castle’s Drug Store where Perry was to treat to 
sodas. For Fudge at least half the fun was found 
in talking the show over afterwards. He was a 
severe critic, and if the manager of the theater 
could have heard his remarks about the “mushy” 
film he might have been moved to exclude such fea- 
tures thereafter. When they had had their sodas 
and had turned back toward Perry’s house, Perry 
suddenly stood stock-still on the sidewalk and 
ejaculated : “Gee, I know where I saw him !” 

“Saw who?” demanded Fudge. “Come on, you 
chump.” 

“Why, the fellow who played the piano. I’ll bet 
you anything he’s the cowboy !” 

“You try cold water,” said Fudge soothingly. 
“Just wet a towel and put it around your head ” 

“No, listen, will you, Fudge? I want to tell you.” 
So Perry recounted the odd coincidence of the pre- 
ceding evening, ending with: “And I’ll bet you 
anything you like that’s the same fellow who was 
58 


PERRY REMEMBERS 

playing the piano there to-night. I recognized him, 
I tell you, only I couldn't think at first.” 

“Well, he didn't look like a cowboy to-night,” 
replied Fudge dubiously. “Besides, what would he 
be doing here? This isn’t any place for cowboys. 
I guess you kind of imagined that part of it. Maybe 
he had on a felt hat; I don't say he didn't; but I 
guess you imagined the rest of it. It — it's psy- 
chological, Perry. You were thinking about cow- 
boys and such things and then this fellow appeared 
at the window and you thought he was dressed like 
one. 

“No, I didn’t. I tell you I could see the handker- 
chief around his neck and — and everything! I don’t 
say he really is a cowboy, but I know mighty well 
he was dressed like one. And I know he's the fel- 
low we saw playing the piano.” 

“Oh, shucks, cowboys don't play pianos, Perry. 
Besides, what does it matter anyway?” 

“Nothing, I suppose, only — only it's sort of funny. 
I’d like to know why he was got up like a cowboy.” 

“Why don't you ask him? Tell you what we’ll 
do, Perry, we'll go up there to-morrow after the 
show’s over and lay in wait for him.” 

“Up to his room? I wonder if he has an office. 
Maybe he gives lessons, Fudge.” 

“What sort of lessons?” 

59 


THE PURPLE PENNANT 

“Piano lessons. Why would he have an office?’' 

“Search me. But we’ll find out. We’ll put 
‘Young Sleuth’ on his trail. Maybe there’s a mys- 
tery about him. I’ll drop around after practice to- 
morrow and we’ll trail him down. Say, what about 
the Track Team ? Thought you were going to join.” 

“I was. Only — oh, I got to thinking maybe I 
couldn’t run very fast, after all.” 

“Piffle! We’ll have another trial, then. I’ll get 
Gordon to hold the watch at the start and I’ll time 
you at the finish. What do you say? Want to try 
it to-morrow?” 

“No, I’d feel like a fool,” muttered Perry. “May- 
be I’ll register to-morrow, anyway. I dare say it 
won’t do any harm even if I find I can’t sprint much. 
What about you and putting the shot?” 

“I’m going to try for it, I guess. Baseball’s no 
good for me. They won’t even give me a place on 
the Second, I suppose. Guess I’ll talk to Felker 
about it to-morrow. You’re silly if you don’t have 
a try at it, Perry. You’ve got the making of a 
dandy sprinter; you mark my words!” 

“If you’ll register for the team, I will,” said 
Perry: 

“All right ! It’s a bargain !” 


CHAPTER VI 


THE FALSE MUSTACHE 

W ELL?” asked Lanny. 

Curtis Way land shook his head and 
smiled. “He thought I was fooling at 
first. Then he thought I was crazy. After that he 
just pitied me for not having any sense.” 

“I've pitied you all my life for that,” laughed 
Lanny. “But what did he say ?” 

“Said in order for him to let us have the use of 
town property he’d have to introduce a bill or some- 
thing in the Council and have it passed and signed 
by the Mayor and sworn to by the Attorney and 

sealed by the Sealer and — and ” 

“And stamped by the stamper?” suggested Dick 
Lovering helpfully. 

“Cut out the comedy stuff,” said Lanny. “He 
just won’t do it, eh ?” 

“That’s what I gathered,” Way assented dryly. 

“And if, in my official capacity of ” 

“Or incapacity,” interpolated Lanny sweetly. 

61 


THE PURPLE PENNANT 


Way scowled fearsomely. “If in my capacity of 
manager of this team,” he resumed with dignity, 
“I'm required to go on any more idiotic errands like 
that I’m going to resign. I may be crazy and 
foolish, but I hate to have folks mention it.” 

“We're all touchy on our weak points,” said 
Lanny kindly. “Well, I suppose you did the best 
you could, Way, but I'm blessed if I see how it 
would hurt them to let us use their old road roller.” 

“He also dropped some careless remark about the 
expense of running it,” observed Way, “from which 
I gathered that, even if he did let us take it, he 
meant to sock us about fifteen dollars a day !” 

“Who is he?” Dick asked. 

“He's Chairman or something of the Street De- 
partment.” 

“Superintendent of Streets,” corrected Way. “I 
saw it on the door.” 

“I mean,” explained Dick, “what's his name?” 

“Oh, Burns. He’s Ned Burns' father.” 

“Uncle,” corrected Way. 

“Could Burns have done anything with him, do 
you suppose?” Dick asked thoughtfully. 

“I don’t believe so. The man is deficient in pub- 
lic spirit and lacking in — in charitable impulse, or 
something.” Lanny frowned intently at Way until 
the latter said : 


62 


THE FALSE MUSTACHE 


“Out with it ! What's on your mind ?” 

“Nothing much. Only — well, that field certainly 
needs a good rolling.” 

“It certainly does,” assented Way. “But if you’re 
hinting for me to go back and talk to that man 
again ” 

“I’m not. The time for asking has passed. We 
gave them a chance to be nice about it and they 
wouldn’t. Now it’s up to us.” 

“Right-o, old son! What are we going to do 
about it?” 

Lanny smiled mysteriously. “You just hold your 
horses and see,” he replied. “I guess the crowd’s 
here, Dick. Shall we start things up?” 

“Yes, let’s get at it. Hello, Fudge!” 

“Hello, fellers! Say, Dick, I’m quitting.” 

“Quitting ? Oh, baseball, you mean. What’s the 
trouble?” 

“Oh, I’m not good enough and there’s no use my 
hanging around, I guess. I’m going out for the 
Track Team to-morrow. I thought I’d let you 
know.” 

“Thanks. Well, I’m sorry, Fudge, but you’re 
right about it. You aren’t quite ready for the team 
yet. Maybe next year ” 

“That’s what I thought. Lanny’ll be gone then 
and maybe I’ll catch for you.” 

^3 


THE PURPLE PENNANT 

“That’s nice of you,” laughed Lanny. “I was 
worried about what was going to happen after I’d 
left. Meanwhile, though, Fudge, what particular 
stunt are you going to do on the Track Team?” 

“Weights, I guess. Perry Hull’s going out for 
the team and he dared me to. Think I could put the 
shot, Dick?” 

“I really don’t know, Fudge. It wouldn’t take 
you long to find out, though. You’re pretty strong, 
aren’t you?” 

“I guess so,” replied Fudge quite modestly. 
“Anyway, Felker’s yelling for fellows to join and I 
thought there wouldn’t be any harm in trying.” 

“ ‘And for many other reasons,’ ” murmured 
Way. The others smiled, and Fudge, with an em- 
barrassed and reproachful glance, hurried away to 
where Perry was awaiting him in the stand. 

“Fellows who read other fellows’ things that 
aren’t meant for them to read are pretty low-down, 
I think,” he ruminated. “And I’ll tell him so, too, 
if he doesn’t let up.” 

“Don’t you love spring?” asked Perry as Fudge 
joined him. “It makes ” 

Fudge turned upon him belligerently. “Here, 
don’t you start that too!” he exclaimed warmly. 

“Start what?” gasped Perry. “I only said ” 

“I heard what you said ! Cut it out !” 

64 


THE FALSE MUSTACHE 

“What’s the matter with you?” asked Perry. 
“Can’t I say that I like spring if I want to?” 

“And what else were you going to say?” de- 
manded Fudge sternly. 

“That it makes you feel nice and lazy,” replied 
the other in hurt tones. 

“Oh ! Nothing about — about the birds singing or 
the April breeze?” 

Perry viewed his friend in genuine alarm. “Hon- 
est, Fudge, I don’t know what you’re talking about. 
Aren’t you well ?’J 

“Then you haven’t heard it.” Fudge sighed. 
“Sorry I bit your head off.” 

“Heard what?” asked Perry in pardonable curi- 
osity. 

Fudge hesitated and tried to retreat, but Perry 
insisted on being informed, and finally Fudge told 
about the “Ode to Spring” and the fun the fellows 
were having with him. “I get it on all sides,” he 
said mournfully. “Tappen passed me a note in 
Latin class this morning ; wanted to know what the 
other reasons were. Half the fellows in school are 
on to it and I don’t hear anything else. I’m sick 
of it!” 

Perry’s eyes twinkled, but he expressed proper 
sympathy, and Fudge finally consented to forget 
1 his grievance and lend a critical eye to the doings 
65 


THE PURPLE PENNANT 
of the baseball candidates. They didn’t remain until 
practice was over, however, for, in his capacity of 
“Young Sleuth,” Fudge was determined to unravel 
the mystery of the cowboy-pianist, as he called the 
subject for investigation. The afternoon perform- 
ance at the moving picture theater was over about 
half-past four or quarter to five, and a few minutes 
after four the two boys left the field and went back 
to town. Fudge explained the method of operation 
on the way. 

“We’ll wait outside the theater,” he said. “Fll 
be looking in a window and you can be on the other 
side of the street. He mustn’t see us, you know.” 

“Why?” asked Perry. 

“Because he might suspect.” 

“Suspect what?” 

“Why, that we were on his track,” explained 
Fudge a trifle impatiently. “You don’t suppose de- 
tectives let the folks they are shadowing know it, 
do you?” 

“I don’t see what harm it would do if he saw us. 
There isn’t anything for him to get excited about, 
is thereV’ 

“You can’t tell. I’ve been thinking a lot about 
this chap, Perry, and the more I — the more I study 
the case the less I like it.” Fudge frowned intensely. 
“There’s something mighty suspicious about him, 
66 


THE FALSE MUSTACHE 

I think. I wouldn’t be surprised if he’d done some- 
thing.” 

“What do you mean, done something?” 

“Why, committed some crime. Maybe he’s sort 
of hiding out here. No one would think of looking 
for him in a movie theater, would they?” 

“Maybe not, but if they went to the theater they’d 
be pretty certain to see him, wouldn’t they?” 

“Huh! He’s probably disguised. I’ll bet that 
mustache of his is a fake one.” 

“It didn’t look so,” Perry objected. “What 
sort of — of crime do you suppose he committed, 
Fudge?” 

“Well, he’s pretty slick-looking. I wouldn’t be 
surprised if he turned out to be a safe-breaker. 
Maybe he’s looking for a chance to crack a safe here 
in Clearfield; sort of studying the lay of the land, 
you know, and seeing where there’s a good chance 
to get a lot of money. We might go over to the 
police station, Perry, and see if there’s a description 
of him there. I’ll bet you he’s wanted somewhere 
for something all right !” 

“Oh, get out, Fudge ! The fellow’s a dandy-look- 
ing chap. And even if he had done something and 
I knew it, I wouldn’t go and tell on him.” 

“Well, I didn’t say I would, did I? B-b-but 
there’s no harm in finding out, is there?” 

67 


THE PURPLE PENNANT 


Whether Fudge’s watch was slow or whether, 
absorbed in their conversation, they consumed more 
time than they realized on the way, the City Hall 
clock proclaimed twenty-two minutes to five when 
they reached the Common and, to Fudge’s intense 
disgust, the theater was out. The ticket-seller had 
departed from his glass hutch between the two doors 
and the latter were closed. Fudge scowled his dis- 
pleasure. 

“He’s made his getaway,” he said, “but he can’t 

escape us long. The Hand of the Law ” He 

paused, his attention attracted by one of the colorful 
posters adorning the entrance. “Say, Perry, that’s 
where the Mexican tries to throw her off the cliff. 
Remember? I’d like to see that again. It’s a 
corker ! Gee, why didn’t we think to come here this 
afternoon?” 

“I’d rather wait until Thursday and see some new 
ones,” replied Perry. “Come over to the house for 
a while, Fudge.” 

“Aren’t you going on with this?” asked Fudge 
surprisedly. 

“Well, he’s gone, hasn’t he?” 

“That doesn’t keep us from having a look at his 
hiding place, does it? We’ll go around there and 
reconnoiter. Come on.” 

But Perry held back. 


68 


THE FALSE MUSTACHE 

“I wouldn’t want him to think we were snoopr 
on him, Fudge.” 

“He won’t know. We’ll just track him to his lab 
but we won’t let on we’re after him. It’s a good 
idea to know where to find him in case we want him. 
And we’d ought to find out whether there’s more 
than one way for him to get in and out.” 

“I know there is. There’s a front door and a 
back. The back door lets out into that little alley 
next to Cosgrove’s store on Common Street.” 

“Cosgrove’s? Ha!” Fudge stopped abruptly and 
tried to look as much like his favorite hero, “Young 
Sleuth,” as possible. “That’s it, then!” 

“What’s it ?” asked Perry impatiently. 

“It’s Cosgrove’s he’s after. Don’t you see?” 
Cosgrove’s was the principal jewelry store in Clear- 
field. “That’s why he rented a room in that block, 
Perry. All he’s got to do is to go out the back way 
to the alley and there he is!” 

“You’re crazy,” laughed Perry. “You don’t know 
that the man’s a — a criminal, do you ?” 

“Well, it looks mighty like it,” asserted Fudge, 
shaking his head in a very satisfied way. “Every- 
thing points to it. We’ll have a look at the alley 
first, I guess.” 

The entrance was only a half -block distant and 
Perry followed his enthusiastic friend up its nar- 

69 


THE PURPLE PENNANT 

q 

• w length until it stopped at a board fence beyond 
vhich was the back yard of the next house to the 
Hulls’. On the way Fudge paid much attention 
to the three barred windows of Cosgrove’s store. 

“See if you see signs of a file,” he whispered to 
Perry. “That’s what he’d probably do ; come down 
here at night and file the bars away. Maybe we’d 
better go into the store and see where the safe is 
located.” 

“If you don’t stop tugging at those bars we’ll get 
pinched,” objected Perry. He was losing his inter- 
est in the affair and had begun to think Fudge’s 
sleuthing rather tiresome. Besides, it was getting 
sort of dark in the little alley and he had already 
collided painfully with an ash-barrel. He was re- 
lieved when Fudge finally satisfied himself that 
so far, at least, the bars of the jewelry store 
windows had not been tampered with. Fudge was 
evidently disappointed and not a little surprised. He 
did a good deal of muttering as he went on to the 
end of the alley. There he stared across the fence. 

“Whose house is that?” he asked in a hoarse 
whisper. 

“Judge Folwell’s. No one lives in it now, 
though.” 

“Hm,” said Fudge. “Your house is over there, 
isn’t it?” 


70 


THE FALSE MUSTACHE 

“Yes. That's the roof." 

“Has your father got a safe?" 

“No, he hasn’t. For the love of mud, Fudge, 
come on home." 

“Wait a minute." Fudge turned to the back of 
the brick block. “What’s on the first floor here?" 

“Ginter’s Bakery." 

“Then this door opens into that ?’’ 

“I don’t know. I suppose so. What difference 
does it make?" 

“It makes a lot of difference," replied Fudge with 
much dignity. “If it does, he’d have to pass through 
the bakery to get out this way, wouldn’t he ? And 
someone would be likely to see him. What we’ve 
got to find out is whether it does or doesn’t." Fudge 
walked up the two stone steps and tried the latch. 
The door opened easily. Inside was silence and 
darkness. Fudge hesitated. “Maybe," he mur- 
mured, “we’d better try the front way first." 

They did, Perry, for one, retracing his steps 
through the darkening alley with relief. At the main 
entrance of the building on G Street they climbed 
two flights of stairs, Fudge cautioning his com- 
panion against making too much noise, and, with 
assumed carelessness, loitered down the hall to the 
last door on the right. There were some five or 
six offices on each side and several of them appeared 


THE PURPLE PENNANT 


to be unoccupied at present. Nor was there anything 
about the door they sought to suggest that the room 
behind it was the refuge of a desperate criminal or, 
for that matter, anyone else. The door was closed 
and bore no sign. The two boys halted at a discreet 
distance and studied it. 

“Wonder if he’s in there now,” whispered Fudge. 

“Probably,” replied Perry uneasily. The hall was 
silent and shadows lurked in the corners. From the 
floor below came the faint ticking of a typewriter, 
but that was all the sound that reached them until an 
automobile horn screeched outside. Perry jumped 
nervously. 

“Come on,” he whispered. “Let’s beat it. He 
might come out and ” 

At that moment footsteps sounded on the lower 
flight. Perry tugged at Fudge’s arm. “Come on, 
can’t you?” he urged. But Fudge was listening 
intently to the approaching steps. The person, who- 
ever he was, tramped along the hall below and began 
the ascent of the next flight. Perry looked about 
for concealment. A few yards away a half-open 
door showed an empty and dusty interior. Perry 
slid through and Fudge followed, closing the door 
softly all but a few inches. The footsteps reached 
the top of the stairs and approached along the cor- 
ridor, passed and kept on toward the back of the 
72 


THE FALSE MUSTACHE 

building. Cautiously the two boys peered out. It 
was the cowboy-pianist. He paused at the last por- 
tal, produced a key, inserted it in the lock and opened 
the door. And as he passed from sight he raised a 
hand and removed the luxuriant brown mustache 
from his upper lip ! 






CHAPTER VII 


FUDGE REVOLTS 

T HE boys crept quietly down the stairs and 
out into the street. It was not until they had 
turned the corner that Fudge broke the 

silence. 

“What do you know about that?” he murmured 
awedly. 

“Looks as though you were right,” returned 
Perry admiringly. “He was disguised, all right.” 

“I — I’ve got to think this over,” said Fudge. He 
was plainly bewildered. They paused at Perry’s 
gate and he declined an invitation to enter, with 
a shake of his head. “I guess,” he muttered, 
“there’s more in this than I thought. You saw 
him take it off, didn’t you?” 

“Of course!” 

Fudge sighed relievedly. Perhaps he had doubt- 
ed the evidences of his senses. “Well, I’ll think 

it over, and to-morrow ” 

“What?” asked Perry interestedly. 

74 


FUDGE REVOLTS 

“We’ll see,” was Fudge’s cryptic and unsatisfac- 
tory reply. “So long. And not a word of this to 
a living soul, Perry!” 

“All right. But, say, Fudge” — Perry dropped his 
voice — “do you really think he’s a — a criminal?” 

“What else can he be? Folks don’t wear false 
mustaches for nothing, do they?” 

“N-no, but he might be doing it for — for a 
sort of joke,” returned the other lamely. 

Fudge sniffed. “Joke! I’ll bet the joke will 
be on him before I’m — before we’re done with 
him! You leave it to me. Night!” 

Fudge strode off in the twilight. There was 
something very stealthy and even somber in his 
departure. Perry, watching a bit admiringly, saw 
the careful manner in which the amateur detective 
discounted surprise by keeping close to the fence 
and peering cautiously at each tree as he approached 
it. At last Fudge melted mysteriously into the dis- 
tant shadows down the street, and Perry, somewhat 
thrilled with the afternoon’s adventure, hurried up- 
stairs and glanced toward the window in the brick 
building. There was a light behind the lowered 
shade, but, although he kept watch for nearly a 
half-hour, nothing came into view. 

He wondered what was going on behind that 
window, and imagined all sorts of deliciously excit- 
75 


THE PURPLE PENNANT 


ing things. Perhaps the mysterious cowboy pianist 
was studying a plan of Cosgrove’s jewelry store, 
or perhaps he was bending over a fascinating as- 
sortment of jimmies and files and — yes, there’d be 
an acetylene torch for burning a hole in the steel 
safe, and there’d be dynamite or nitro-glycerine 
or something equally useful to a safe-breaker! If 
only he might somehow get a momentary peek 
into that room over there! He was so full of 
his interesting neighbor that he ate almost no sup- 
per and incurred the anxious displeasure of his 
mother. 

“Aren’t you feeling well, Perry?” she asked. 

“No’m — I mean, yes’m!” 

“I think, Father, you’d better have a look at him 
after supper. His face looks feverish to me.” 

“I’m all right, honest, Ma! I — I just ain’t hun- 
gry.” 

“Don’t say ‘ain’t,’ Perry. Have you been eating 
this afternoon?” 

“No’m.” 

“I wouldn’t worry about him,” said the Doctor. 
“These first spring days are likely to interfere with 
one’s appetite. Have you started that sprinting yet ? 
Been doing too much running to-day ?” 

“No, sir, we don’t start until to-morrow. Dad, 
did you ever see a burglar?” 

76 


FUDGE REVOLTS 

“ I suppose so. I don’t recollect. Have you 
seen one around?” 

Perry almost changed color. “No, sir — that is — - 
I just wondered whether they wore false mus- 
taches.” 

“Now, Perry Hull, what sort of nonsense 
have you been reading?” inquired his mother. 
“Some of the books you get out of the library 
aren’t fit for any boy; all about fighting and In- 
dians and — and now it’s burglars, I dare say! I 
don’t see when you have time for reading, anyway, 
with all those lessons to study. Your report card 
last month wasn’t anything- to boast of, either.” 

“It was all right except math.,” defended Perry. 
“Gee, if you think my card was punk, you ought 
to see some of them!” 

“I didn’t say anything about ‘punk/ ” retorted 
Mrs. Hull with dignity. “And I’d like to know 
where you get all the horrid words you use lately. 
I dare say it’s that Shaw boy. He looks rather 
common, I think.” 

“There, there, Mother, don’t scold him any more,” 
said the Doctor soothingly. “Slang’s harmless 
enough. Have a slice of lamb, son?” 

Perry dutifully passed his plate and consumed 
the lamb, not because he had any appetite for it 
but in order to allay his mother’s suspicions of ill- 
77 


THE PURPLE PENNANT 
ness. There were some especially nasty bottles in 
the Doctor’s office and Perry had long ago vowed 
never to be ill again! After supper he excused 
himself early and retired to his room to study. 
Mrs. Hull smiled commendingly. It was evident 
to her that her remarks had borne fruit. But 
Perry didn’t get very much studying done, because 
he spent much of the evening peeking cautiously 
around the corner of his window shade. Of course 
he realized that the safe-breaker would be at the 
theater in his assumed role of pianist, but it had 
occurred to Perry that possibly he had an accom- 
plice. But the opposite window remained dark all 
the evening, or at least until after Perry, ready 
for bed, had sent a final look across the starlit 
gloom. What happened subsequently he didn’t 
know, but he dreamed the wildest, most extrava- 
gant dreams in which he was at one moment par- 
ticipating in furious deeds of crime and the next, 
aligned on the side of Justice, was heroically pur- 
suing a whole horde of criminals across the roofs 
of the city. That the criminals were under the 
able and even brilliant leadership of Fudge Shaw 
did not strike him as the least bit incongruous — 
until the next morning! 

When he finally tumbled out of bed, after re- 
viewing his dreams, or as much as he could recall of 
78 


FUDGE REVOLTS 

them, he went first to the window and looked across 
the back yard. His heart leaped into his throat 
at what he saw. The last window on the third floor 
of the brick building was wide-open and there, in 
plain view of all the world, sat the safe-breaker! 
A small table was pulled in front of the casement 
and the safe-breaker was seated at it. On the 
table were a cup and saucer, some dishes and a 
newspaper. Perry gazed fascinatedly. The safe- 
breaker alternately read the paper and ate his 
breakfast. Perry couldn’t be quite certain, but it 
appeared that the breakfast consisted of sausage 
and rolls and coffee. Whatever it was, the man 
ate with evident enjoyment, slowly, perusing the 
morning news between mouthfuls. There was no 
mustache to-day. Instead, the safe-breaker’s face 
was clean-shaven and undeniably good-looking in 
a rugged way. He had a rather large nose and a 
generous mouth and lean cheeks and a very de- 
termined-looking chin. His hair was brown, with 
some glints of red in it where the sunlight touched 
it. He was attired in quite ordinary clothes, so far 
as the observer could see, but wore no coat; per- 
haps because the morning was delightfully warm 
and the sunlight shone in at his window. For- 
tunately for Perry, the man never once glanced 
his way. If he had he might easily have seen 


THE PURPLE PENNANT 


a boy in blue pajamas staring fascinatedly across at 
him with very wide, round eyes. In which case 
doubtless he would have suspected that he was 
under surveillance! 

Periy was still looking when his mother’s voice 
summoned him to action. Regretfully he with- 
drew his gaze and hurried off to the bathroom. 
When he returned the safe-breaker was still there, 
but he had finished his breakfast and was smoking 
a short pipe, still busy with the paper, and so 
. Perry was obliged to leave him, and when he 
had finished his own repast and raced upstairs 
again the opposite window was empty. Perry set 
off to school fairly weighted down with the start- 
ling news he had to tell Fudge Shaw, and hoping 
beyond everything that he would be fortunate 
enough to meet with that youth before the bell 
rang. He wasn’t, however, and not until the noon 
hour did he find a chance to unburden himself. 
Then, while he and Fudge, together with some two 
hundred other boys — not to mention an even larger 
number of girls — sat on the coping around the 
school grounds and ate their luncheons, he eagerly, 
almost breathlessly, recounted the story of what he 
had seen. * 

Fudge was plainly impressed, and he asked any 
number of searching and seemingly purposeless 
80 


FUDGE REVOLTS 


questions, but in the end he appeared a little dis- 
appointed. “It doesn’t seem,” he said, “that he’d 
show himself like that if he’s what we think he 
is. Unless, of course, he’s doing it for a bluff; 
to avert suspicion, you know.” 

Perry nodded. 

“He doesn’t look much like a criminal,” he said 
doubtfully. “He’s sort of nice-looking, Fudge.” 

“Lots of the best of ’em are,” was the sententious 
reply. “Look at — oh, lots of ’em! Remember the 
crook in that movie play last month, the fellow 
who forged things?” 

• “Jim the Penman? Yes, but he was only an 
actor, Fudge.” 

“Makes no difference. Those plays are true to 
life, Perry. That’s why they got that good-looking 
chap to act that part, don’t you see? That’s one 
of the most suspicious things about this fellow. 
He’s too good-looking, too innocent, don’t you see? 
He’s probably an awfully clever cracksman, Perry.” 

“Maybe,” replied the other hopefully. “What 
do you suppose he was so interested in the paper 
for?” 

Fudge frowned thoughtfully as he conveyed the 
last morsel of a generous sandwich to his mouth. 
“You can’t tell. Maybe he was looking to see if 

the police were on his track. Or maybe ” 

81 


THE PURPLE PENNANT 

But the bell cut short further speculation and, 
agreeing to meet after school, they went back to 
the drudgery of learning. Perry had not had time 
to ask Fudge what plan of procedure the latter 
had decided on, a fact which interfered sadly with 
his work during the final session. As it developed 
later, however, Fudge had not decided on the best 
manner in which to continue the relentless pur- 
suit of the criminal. As they made their way to 
the athletic field Fudge talked a great deal on the 
subject but, to Perry’s disappointment, didn’t seem 
to arrive anywhere. It would be necessary, thought 
Fudge, to do a good deal of watching before they 
could obtain enough evidence in the case. What 
they ought to do, he declared, was to shadow the 
safe-breaker and never let him out of their sight. 
But this, as Perry pointed out, was rather imprac- 
tical, considering that they had to spend most of 
the day in school. Whereupon Fudge reminded 
him that Saturday was coming. 

“We’ll have the whole day then. The only thing 
I’m afraid of is that he will pull it off before that 
and make his getaway. And, of course, if we want 
to get the reward we’ve got to collar him before 
that.” 

“Reward?” echoed Perry. “What reward?” 

“Why, the reward for his apprehension.” 

82 


FUDGE REVOLTS 

“How do you know there’s any reward?” 

T don’t know it, but it stands to reason, doesn’t 
it, that there is one? If that fellow’s wanted some- 
where there’s sure to be a reward out for him, and 
a description and all. I wish I knew how much it 
is!” 

“How much do you suppose?” asked Perry. 

“Oh, maybe five hundred dollars, maybe a thou- 
sand. It depends, you see, on how much swag he 
got away with on his last job. Maybe he killed 
someone. You can’t tell. Burglars are desperate 
folks when they’re interrupted.” 

“I don’t think he’d kill anyone,” said Perry. 
“He doesn’t look that sort.” 

Fudge, though, shook his head unconvincedly. 
“You can’t tell,” he said. “Anyway, if he has, the 
reward’s bound to be bigger. You keep your eyes 
peeled, Perry, and watch that window closely. I 
wouldn’t be surprised if you discovered something 
mighty important in the next day or two. He must 
be getting pretty nearly ready to do something.” 

“You don’t think, then, he has an accomplice?” 
asked Perry. 

“No, I don’t. He sort of looks like a man who’d 
work on his own hook. It’s lots safer, you see, 
and he has a pretty wise face.” 

There, for the time being, the subject had to be 
83 


THE PURPLE PENNANT 
abandoned, for they had reached the field and con- 
fidential conversation was no longer possible. 

Not only the baseball candidates were out to-day 
but some forty-odd aspirants for positions on the 
Track Team. These were clustered at the further 
side of the inclosure where the coach and trainer, 
“Sheet” Presser, were, rather dubiously it seemed, 
looking them over. Guy Felker, eighteen years of 
age and a senior, was captain this year, and Arthur 
Beaton was manager. Beaton was checking off the 
candidates from a list he held and Captain Felker 
was inquiring of no one in particular “where the 
rest of them were.” Sixty-four names had gone 
down on the notice-board in the school corridor and 
only forty-four had shown up. “Skeet” explained 
the absence of a number of the delinquents by re- 
minding Guy that fellows couldn’t practice base- 
ball and report for track work both. Guy con- 
sented to become slightly mollified, and, Manager 
Beaton having completed his checking, the coach 
and trainer took charge. 

“Skeet” was a slight, wiry man of some thirty 
years, with a homely, good-natured countenance 
and a pair of very sharp and shrewd black eyes. 
He had been in his time a professional one- and 
two-miler of prominence, but of late years had made 
a business of training. He was regularly employed 

S 4 


FUDGE REVOLTS 

by the Clearfield Young Men’s Christian Associa- 
tion, but his duties there did not occupy all his 
time and for three seasons he had coached and 
trained the High School athletes, and with a fair 
measure of success, since during his regime Clear- 
field had once won overwhelmingly from her rival, 
Springdale, had once been beaten decisively and had 
once lost the meeting by a bare three points. This 
year, if Guy Felker could have his way, the purple 
of Clearfield was to wave in gorgeous triumph over 
the blue of Springdale. 

The trouble was, however, that after the last 
defeat by her rival Clearfield High School had 
rather lost enthusiasm for track and field sports. 
The pendulum swung far over toward baseball, 
and this spring it had been more than usually dif- 
ficult to persuade fellows to come out for the 
Track Team. Felker had posted notice after no- 
tice calling for volunteers before his insistence had 
stirred up any response. Of course there was a 
nucleus in the hold-overs from last season, but 
they were not many and new material was badly 
needed if the Purple was to make a real showing 
against the Blue. Within the last week the list on 
the notice-board had grown encouragingly in length, 
though, and with a half-hundred candidates to 
choose from it would seem that coach and captain 
85 


THE PURPLE PENNANT 
should have been encouraged. Unfortunately, 
though, a good half of the aspirants were young- 
sters whose chances of making good were decidedly 
slim, and “Skeet” and Guy Felker both realized 
that if, after the final weeding out, they had twenty- 
five fellows to build the team with they might con- 
sider themselves extremely fortunate. 

At least half of the candidates who reported this 
afternoon were in street togs. Those who were 
not were taken by Guy for a slow run out into the 
country and the others were dismissed with instruc- 
tions to report to-morrow dressed for work. Of 
the former were Fudge and Perry, and it was their 
fortune to amble over the better part of two miles 
at the tail-end of a strung-out procession of run- 
ners. Perry was in the rear because Fudge was. 
Fudge was there because running was not a strong 
point with him. If it hadn’t been for the occasional 
rests allowed by the captain, Fudge would have 
dropped out, discouraged and winded, long before 
they got back to the field. As it was, however, he 
managed to remain within sight of the leaders. 
Once when, having trotted up a hill, he subsided on 
a convenient ledge to regain his breath, he voiced 
a protest. 

“Gee,” panted Fudge, “I don’t see any good in 
running all over the landscape like this when you’re 
86 


FUDGE REVOLTS 

going to be a shot-putter! If Fd known they were 
going to spring this on me I wouldn’t have signed 
for the team!” 

“I guess maybe it’s good for you,” replied Perry, 
“whether you’re going to throw weights or run or 
jump. Hadn’t we better start along again? The 
others are nearly a quarter of a mile away now.” 

Fudge lifted a dejected head and viewed the sit- 
uation. His face brightened. “They’re going 
around the hill, Perry,” he said. “That’s all right. 
We’ll just trot down this side and pick ’em up 
again at the road.” 

Perry wanted to demur at that, but Fudge’s dis- 
comfort was so real that he had to sympathize, and 
so they cut off to the right and reached the bot- 
tom of the hill shortly after the first runners had 
passed. There were many knowing grins as the 
two boys trotted out from the fringe of trees. 

“Did you lose your way?” asked one chap so- 
licitously. 

“No, I lost my breath,” replied Fudge. “Had 
to stop and look for it.” 

“ ‘And for numerous other reasons,’ ” remarked 
a voice behind him. 

Fudge glanced back with a scowl, but every face 
in sight was guileless and innocent. 

Later, when they were making their way home 

87 


THE PURPLE PENNANT 


from the field, Fudge pulled his feet after him 
wearily and groaned every few yards. 

“I’ll be as stiff as a crutch to-morrow,” he sighed 
pessimistically. “F-f-for two cents I’d tell Guy to 
find someone else to put his old shot for him. I 
d-d-didn’t agree to be a b-b-b-blooming slave!” 

Still, he managed to drag himself around to 
Perry’s after supper and until it was time for the 
theater to open they watched the window across the 
yard. But they saw nothing, not even a light. 
Fudge feared that their quarry had flown and ac- 
cused Perry of scaring him away. “He probably 
saw you watching him and has skipped out. Bet 
we’ll never see him again!” 

“But I’m quite sure he didn’t see me,” expostu- 
lated the other. “He didn’t look up once.” 

“That’s what you think. He must have seen you. 
Well, there goes five hundred dollars !” 

“You don’t even know there was any reward for 
him, so what’s the good of grouching about it ?” 

But Fudge refused to cheer up and presently took 
his departure gloomily. It is very easy to be a 
pessimist when one is weary, and Fudge was very 
weary indeed! 


CHAPTER VIII 


LANNY STUDIES STEAM ENGINEERING 

T HEY were putting down a two-block stretch 
of new macadam on the Lafayette Street 
extension. A bed of cracked stone, freshly 
sprinkled, was receiving the weighty attention of 
the town’s biggest steam roller as Lanny White 
strolled around the corner. Chug-chug-chug! 
Scrunch-scrunch-scrunch ! Lanny paused, hands in 
pockets, and looked on. Back and forth went 
the roller, the engineer skillfully edging it toward 
the center of the road at the end of each trip. 
Further down the street, where the workmen were 
tearing up the old dirt surface, a second and much 
smaller roller stood idle, its boiler simmering and 
purring. Lanny smiled. 

“Me for the little one,” he muttered, as he walked 
toward the smaller roller. The engineer was a 
huge, good-natured looking Irishman with a bristling 
red mustache, so large that he quite dwarfed the 
machine. He had a bunch of dirty cotton waste in 
89 


THE PURPLE PENNANT 
his hand and, apparently for the want of something 
better to do, was rubbing it here and there about 
the engine. He looked up as Lanny came to a 
stop alongside, met Lanny’s smile and smiled back. 
Then he absent-mindedly mopped his face with the 
bunch of waste, without, however, appreciable ef- 
fect, and leaned against the roller. 

“Gettin’ warm,” he volunteered. 

Lanny nodded, casting his eyes interestedly over 
the engine. 

“ I should think that would be a pretty warm job 
in hot weather,” he observed conversationally. 

“ ’Tis so. Put eighty or ninety pounds o’ shtame 
in her an’ she throws out the hate somethin’ fierce.” 

“She’s smaller than the other one, isn’t she?” 

“Yep. We use this one for the sidewalk work 
gin’rally. But she’s good for tearin’ up when she’s 
the spikes in her.” 

“Spikes?” asked Lanny. 

“Thim things.” The man picked up a steel spike 
some eight inches long from the floor and showed 
Lanny how it was fixed in one of the numerous 
holes bored in the surface of the roller. After that 
Lanny’s curiosity led to all sorts of questions. At 
the engineer’s invitation he mounted the platform 
and, under instruction, moved the roller backwards 
and forwards and altered its course by the steering 
90 


LANNY STUDIES STEAM ENGINEERING 


wheel and peered into the glowing furnace under 
the boiler and listened to an exposition on the sub- 
ject of getting up steam and the purposes of the 
steam and water gauges. The engineer was a will- 
ing teacher and Lanny an apt pupil, and they both 
enjoyed themselves. 

“And what do you do with it at night?” asked 
Lanny innocently. “Do you leave it here and put 
the fire out?” 

“Lave it here, yes, but I don't put the fire out, 
lad. I just bank it down, d'you see, an’ thin in the 
mornin' I just rake her out a bit and throw some 
more coal in and there she is.” 

“Oh, I see. And how much steam does she have 
to have to work on?” 

“Depends. Sixty pounds’ll carry her along on a 
level strate, but you have to give her more on a 
grade.” 

“It's quite interesting,” said Lanny. “And thanks 
for explaining it to me.” 

“Sure, that’s all right,” replied the other good- 
naturedly. “Maybe, though, you’ll be afther my 
job first thing I know.” He winked humorously. 

Lanny smiled and shook his head. “I guess I’d 
be afraid to try to run one of those alone,” he said. 
“It looks pretty difficult. How was it, now, I 
started it before?” 


9i 


THE PURPLE PENNANT 

“Wid this.” The engineer tugged gently at the 
lever. “Try it again if you like.” 

So Lanny stepped back on the platform and 
rolled the machine a few yards up the road and 
back again and seemed quite pleased and proud. 
Nevertheless he still denied that he would have the 
courage to try to do it alone. “I guess I’d better 
start in and work up,” he said smilingly. “Maybe I 
could get the job of night watchman for a begin- 
ning. I suppose there is a watchman, isn’t there?” 

“There’s two or three of thim.” 

Lanny tried not to let his disappointment show. 
“That’s what I’ll do then,” he laughed. “And if I 
get cold I’ll sit here by your boiler.” 

“Oh, there’s no watchman on this job,” said the 
other carelessly. “We just put the lanterns up. 
That’s enough. It’s only where there’s a good dale 
of travelin’ that they do be havin’ the watchman 
on the job. Well, here’s where we get busy. Come 
along, you ould teakettle. The' boss wants you. 
So long, lad.” 

The little roller rumbled off up the road and 
Lanny, whistling softly, wandered back the way 
he had come, stopping here and there to watch 
operations. But once around the corner he no 
longer dawdled. He set out at his best pace in- 
stead, went a block westward and one northward 
92 


LANNY STUDIES STEAM ENGINEERING 
and presently reached his destination, a house at 
the corner of Troutman and B Streets. Dick Lover- 
ing’s blue runabout was in front of the gate and 
Dick himself was sitting on the porch with Gordon 
Merrick. Gordon was a clean-cut, live-looking boy 
of sixteen, a clever first-baseman and an equally 
clever left end. He and Dick were close friends. 
They had evidently been awaiting Lanny’s appear- 
ance, for they spied him the moment he came into 
sight and before he had reached the gate Gordon 
called eagerly: “All right, Lanny?” 

“Fine ! I’m the best little chauffeur in the Street 
Department !” 

“Better not talk so loudly,” cautioned Dick. “Do 
you have to have a license to run it?” 

Lanny chuckled. “I guess so, but I've lost mine. 
Say, fellows, it's dead easy!” He seated himself 
on the top step and fanned himself with his cap. 
April was surprising Clearfield with a week of ab- 
normally warm weather and this Saturday morning 
was the warmest of all. “The chap was awfully 
decent to me. It seems rather a shame to take 
him in the way I did. He let me get on it and 
run it and showed me all about it. Why, all you 

have to do ” And thereupon Lanny went into 

technical details with enthusiasm and explained 
until Gordon shut him off. 

93 


THE PURPLE PENNANT 


“That’ll be about all, Lanny,” said Gordon. “As 
you’re going to attend to the chauffeuring we don’t 
need to know all the secrets. All we want to know 
is, can it be done?” 

“Of course! I’m telling you ” 

“You’re spouting a lot of rot about steam pres- 
sure and gauges,” interrupted Gordon firmly. 
“That’s your business, not ours. We’re only pas- 
sengers and ” 

“Leave me out,” laughed Dick. “I refuse to ride 
on anything that Lanny’s running, even a street 
roller.” 

“There won’t any of you ride,” said Lanny. 
“You’ll walk. And one of you had better go ahead 
and carry a lantern in case we meet anything on 
the way.” 

“Oh, shucks, it’s got a whistle, hasn’t it?” 

“Maybe, but I’m not going to blow it if it has, 
you silly idiot!” 

“Much obliged ! Well, do we do it to-night or do 
we not?” 

“We do. The journey will start at nine sharp.” 

“Hadn’t we better wait until later?” asked Dick. 
“We don’t want to run into the Superintendent of 
Streets or the fellow you were talking to.” 

“There’s no one out that way at night. There 
are only four or five houses around there, anyway. 

94 


LANNY STUDIES STEAM ENGINEERING 


We can take it to that first new cross street, what- 
ever its name is, and then back by Common Street to 
the field. We won’t meet a soul. Besides, it’s 
going to take some time to go all over that ground 
with the thing. It’s slower than Dick’s run- 
about!” 

“Cast no aspersions on Eli,” warned Dick. 
“We might have a race, you and I, eh? You in 
your — what make is it, by the way?” 

Lanny chuckled. “Well, it’s not very big,” he 
said, “and so I guess maybe it’s a Ford!” 

“Who’s going along with us ?” Gordon asked. 

“Just Way. Seeing that he’s manager ” 

“Yes, and we may need someone along whose dad 
has a little money in case we get caught! Will you 
fellows come here, then, about nine?” 

“You’d better leave me out of it,” said Dick. “I’m 
willing to share the responsibility but I wouldn’t 
be any use to you. I’m an awful blunderer when 
I try to stump around in the dark.” 

“You could go in Eli,” said Gordon, “and take 
me along.” 

“Nothing doing! You’ll walk ahead and lug the 
lantern,” declared Lanny. “There’s no reason why 
Dick should bother to come. Besides, if there did 
happen to be any trouble about it afterwards, he’d 
be much better out of it. A football coach isn’t 
95 


THE PURPLE PENNANT 

much use if he’s serving a year or two in prison.” 

“What do you suppose they would do to us if 
they found out?” asked Gordon thoughtfully. 

“Oh, who cares?” Lanny laughed gaily. “After 
all, we aren’t stealing the thing; we’re just borrow- 
ing it.” 

“I guess Ned Bums would intercede with his 
stern uncle if we were found out,” said Dick. 
“It might be a good idea to take Ned along!” he 
added with a laugh. 

“Ned nothing!” Gordon’s tone was contemptu- 
ous. “Ned would get in front of the old thing and 
get flattened out, like as not. Something would 
happen to him surely. He can’t walk around the 
comer without breaking a leg!” 

“What’s the matter with him now?” asked Lanny 
interestedly. “Some fellow told me he was laid 
up again.” 

“Didn’t you hear? Why, he was standing on a 
crossing on Common Street one day last week and 
an automobile came along and ran over his foot! 
Everyone around declared that the chap in the 
auto blew his horn loud enough to wake the dead. 
But it didn’t wake Ned!” 

“Hurt him much?” asked Lanny, laughing. 

“Broke a bone in one toe, they say. Honest, I 
saw Ned walk along G Street one day last winter 
96 


LANNY STUDIES STEAM ENGINEERING 


and run into exactly three hydrants! He’s a won- 
der !” 

“He certainly is ! And I guess we’d better leave 
Ned at home. Three of us are enough, anyway. 
What time does the moon show up to-night?” 

“It hasn’t told me,” replied Gordon gravely. 

“Well, we’ll need it to see what we’re doing. 
About ten, though, I think. Is that twelve o’clock 
striking? Gee, I must run along. I promised my 
mother I’d dig up a flower bed this morning. See 
you later, fellows.” 

“Wait a second and I’ll drop you around there,” 
said Dick, reaching for his crutches. “By the way, 
Gordie, if you see Way tell him not to forget to 
stop and get half a dozen new balls. I told him 
yesterday, but he’s likely to forget it. And don’t 
you forget that practice is at two-thirty to-day!” 

“Ay, ay, sir! Can we have a game to-day, 
Dick?” 

“Yes, but I want a good hour’s work before- 
hand. Turn her over, will you, Lanny? I’m going 
to have a self-starter put on her some day if I can 
find the money.” 

Eli Yale, that being the full name of the blue 
runabout, rolled out of sight up B Street toward 
Lanny’s home and Gordon, reminded by Lanny’s 
remark of his own duties in the way of gardening, 
97 


THE PURPLE PENNANT 


descended the porch and passed around the side 
of the house toward the shed in search of a spade. 
As he came in sight of the apple tree in the next 
yard he glanced inquiringly toward the platform. 
It was, however, empty. 

“I wonder,” muttered Gordon, “where Fudge is 
keeping himself. I haven’t seen him around for 
almost a week.” 

Could he have caught sight of his neighbor at 
that moment he would probably have been some- 
what surprised. 


CHAPTER IX 


THE NEW SIGN 

Q UIT wobbling !” hissed Fudge. 

“All right, but hurry up,” returned Perry 
in a hoarse whisper. “See anything?” 
“N-no, nothing much. There’s a table — what’s 
that?” 

Fudge stopped abruptly and listened. Footfalls 
sounded in the hall below and, releasing his clutch 
on the ledge of the transom, Fudge wriggled from 
Perry’s supporting arms and descended to the 
floor. 

“Someone’s coming!” he whispered. “Beat it!” 
They “beat it” into the empty room across the 
corridor just as the intruder’s head came into sight 
above the landing. Fudge, watching through the 
crack of the partly-open door, beheld a man in 
overalls carrying a square of black tin. He passed 
on to the door they had just retreated from, set 
down his box, pushed a battered derby hat to the 
back of his head and regarded the portal thought- 
99 


THE PURPLE PENNANT 
fully. Finally he produced an awl, a screwdriver 
and some screws from different pockets and pro- 
ceeded to attach the square of tin to the middle 
panel. The conspirators watched with vast curi- 
osity. There was printing on the tin, but not until 
the man had completed his task and gone were 
they able to read it. Then they stole out and re- 
garded the sign interestedly. This is what they 
saw: 


MYRON ADDICKS, 
CIVIL ENGINEER 


They viewed each other questioningly and doubt- 
fully. 

“Civil Engineer/’ mused Fudge. “That’s a 
funny game. Of course, that isn’t his real name.” 

“Let’s get out of here,” said Perry uneasily. “He 
might come back.” 

They went down the stairs and emerged on the 
sidewalk after Fudge had peered cautiously from 
the doorway. “I suppose,” muttered Fudge, “we 
oughtn’t to be seen together. He may be watch- 
ing from across the street somewhere.” He viewed 


ioo 


THE NEW SIGN 


the windows of the opposite stores and houses 
suspiciously but without result. In another minute 
they were seated on Perry’s front steps. 

“What did you see through the transom?” asked 
Perry. 

“Nothing much. There’s a cot bed in one cor- 
ner with a screen around it, and a table with a lot 
of books and things on it, and a funny table with 
a sloping top, and a little table near the window, 

and two or three chairs ” Fudge paused, 

searching his memory. “That’s all, I guess. 
There’s a closet in the comer across from the 
bed, though. And, oh, yes, there was a trunk near 
the door. I could just see the edge of it. I’ll bet 
if we could get a look in that trunk we’d find evi- 
dence enough, all right!” 

“But — but if he’s really a civil engineer,” ob- 
jected Perry, “maybe we’re all wrong about him.” 

Fudge jeered. “What would a civil engineer be 
doing playing a piano in a movie theater ? And why 
would he wear a false mustache? Or dress up like 
a cowboy? He’s no more of a civil engineer than 
I am!” 

“Myron’s an unusual name,” mused Perry. 

“You wouldn’t expect him to call himself John 
Smith, would you ? Folks would suspect right away 
that it was a — an assumed name. He’s foxy, that, 

IOI 


THE PURPLE PENNANT 


chap. Til just bet you anything that he’s a regular 
top-notcher! And I’ll bet there’s a whaling big 
reward out for him, too!” 

“Well, I don’t see that we’ve found out very 
much to-day,” said Perry. “We’ve been after him 
ever since half-past eight, and all we know is that 
he calls himself ‘Myron Addicks, Civil Engineer’ 
and has a trunk and a bed and three tables in his 
room.” 

“That’s a whole lot,” replied Fudge emphatically. 
“That sign proves that he’s a faker, doesn’t 
it?” 

“Well, it doesn’t exactly prove it,” returned the 
other. 

“Of course it does! You don’t suppose anyone 
really ever had such a name as ‘Myron Addicks,’ 
do you? And I guess you never saw a civil engi- 
neer playing a piano in a theater, did you? And 
what about the disguise?” 

There was no getting around the disguise, and 
Perry hedged. “Well, anyway, we’ve got to find 
out more than we have yet, Fudge.” 

“Oh, we’ll find things out all right. And I 
guess we’ve got plenty of time. That sign shows 
that he means to hang around here awhile, you 
see. If he was going to crack a safe within a few 
days he wouldn’t go to all that trouble. I guess 
102 


THE NEW SIGN 


he's about as slick as they make them. Say, what 
time is it? I’ve got to get home!” 

“ About half-past twelve. Do we have to do any 
more shadowing this afternoon?” 

Fudge shook his head. “No, he’ll be in the theater 
from two to half-past four. Anyway, I’ve got to 
think over the new evidence before we go on. We 
— we’ve got to proceed very carefully. If he 
should suspect anything — well, it might go hard 
with us.” 

“I wish,” said Perry dubiously, “we could find 
out if there really is a reward out for him. Only, 
if there was, I don’t suppose we could get it.” 

“Why couldn’t we?” demanded Fudge warmly. 
“All we’d have to do would be to go to the police 
and say : ‘Come across with the reward and we’ll 
lead you to your man!’ That’s all we’d have to 
do. Of course I could go to the police station and, 
ask what rewards are out, but, you see, that might 
make them suspicious. All they’d have to do 
would be to shadow us and find out about him and 
— bing! — good-night, reward!” Fudge shook his 
head. “We won’t give them any chance to do us 
out of it. Well, so long. Going out to the field 
this afternoon?” 

“Are you?” 

Fudge nodded. “Guess so. Come on and watch 
103 


THE PURPLE PENNANT 


practice. Maybe they’ll have a game to-day. Stop 
for me about two, will you?” 

Perry agreed and Fudge took himself off, for 
once neglecting to proceed along the street with his 
usual caution. If an enemy had been lurking be- 
hind one of the maple trees, Fudge would have 
stood a poor chance of escape ! Perry dragged his 
tired feet into the house and up the stairs, reflecting 
that this game of shadowing was far more weary- 
ing than the long, slow runs that had fallen to his 
lot the last three days. He was very thankful that 
work for the track candidates was to be omitted 
this afternoon. 

However, he felt better after dinner and sitting 
in the sun on the stand with Fudge and watching 
baseball practice was not a very wearing occupa- 
tion. Dick Lovering put the fellows through a good 
hour of batting and fielding and then picked two 
teams from the more promising material and let 
them play five innings. Tom Haley was in the 
box for the First Team and Tom Nostrand pitched 
for the Second. The First was made up about as 
everyone expected it would be, with Captain Jones 
at shortstop, Lanny catching, Gordon Merrick on 
first, Harry Bryan on second, Will Scott on third, 
George Cotner in left field, Pete Farrar in center 
and Joe Browne in right. Bert Cable umpired. A 
104 


THE NEW SIGN 

hundred or more fellows had come out to the field 
to look on, attracted by the rumor of a line-up, and 
they were rewarded by a very scrappy, hard-fought, 
contest. There were many errors, but, as they were 
fairly apportioned to each team, they added to 
rather than detracted from the interest. 

The Scrubs tied the score up in the third when 
Lanny, seeking to kill off a runner at second, threw 
the ball two yards to the left of base and two tallies 
came in. At four runs each the game went into the 
last of the fourth inning. Then an error by the 
Second Team's first-baseman, followed by a wild 
throw to third by catcher, brought Gordon Merrick 
in and placed the First Team in the lead. And there 
it stayed, for, although the Second started a rally 
in their half of the fifth and managed to get men 
on first and second bases with but one out, Tom 
Haley settled down and fanned the next batsman 
and brought the game to an end by causing his 
rival in the points, Tom Nostrand, to pop up an 
easy fly to Warner Jones. 

Before Fudge and Perry were out of sight of the 
field Dick’s runabout sped past with Gordon Mer- 
rick beside the driver and Curtis Way land perched 
on the floor with his knees doubled up under his 
chin. The occupants of the car waved and Way 
shouted something that Perry didn’t catch. 

105 


THE PURPLE PENNANT 


“What did he say?” Perry asked as the car sped 
around the corner. 

“I don’t know,” muttered Fudge. “He’s a fresh 
kid, anyway.” 

Fudge, however, was not quite truthful, for 
Way’s remark had reached him very clearly. 

“I thought,” said Perry innocently, “he said 
something about the springs.” 

Fudge viewed him suspiciously, but, discovering 
his countenance apparently free of guile, only 
grunted. 

In the runabout the three boys were discussing 
the afternoon’s performance. “It didn’t go badly 
for a first game,” hazarded Way. “But wasn’t 
that a weird peg of Lanny’s?” 

“There were several weird things about that 
game,” said Gordon. “My hitting was one of 
them. We’ll have to do better next Saturday if 
we’re going to beat Norrisville.” 

“Who said we were going to?” asked Dick 
mildly. 

Gordon laughed. “Well, then, give them a fight,” 
he corrected. 

“Oh, we’ll do that, I guess,” Dick replied. “An- 
other week of practice will make a difference. We’ll 
get rid of some of the crowd about Wednesday and 
then we’ll have room to turn around out there. 

106 


THE NEW SIGN 

Warner thinks we ought to keep two full nines for 
the First, but I don’t see the use of it if we have 
the Second to play with. What do you think ?” 

“No use at all,” said Way. “Just a lot of sore- 
heads sitting around on the bench and kicking be- 
cause they can’t play every minute. Besides, there 
aren’t enough good ball players in the lot to make 
three teams.” 

“No, I don’t think there are. That’s what I told 
Warner. He wanted to pick out eighteen or twenty 
and then make up the Second from what was 
left.” 

“A peach of a Second it would be,” jeered Gor- 
don. 

“I guess we’ll stick to last year’s idea,” continued 
the coach, “and keep about sixteen fellows, includ- 
ing pitchers. I wish, by the way, we had another 
good twirler. We’ll have to find one somewhere.” 

“Joe Browne can pitch a little, Dick,” Way 
suggested. “You might see what you can do with 
him. He hasn’t got much, I guess, but a pretty 
fair straight ball and a sort of out-curve, but he 
might learn.” 

“All right, we’ll see what we can do with him. 
A player who can work in the field and the box too 
is a pretty handy chap to have around. If he can 
do well enough to start some of the early games 
107 


THE PURPLE PENNANT 

we won’t have to keep more than fifteen players. 
Here you are, Way. Everything all right for to- 
night ?” 

“I guess so. Lanny’s going to leave the big gate 
open so we can get the thing in. I hope he doesn’t 
forget it. I’ll call him up at supper time and 
find out. Sure you don’t want to come along, 
Dick?” 

“Quite sure. I’d only be in the way. And you’ll 
have plenty without me. Good luck to you. Don’t 
get caught!” 

“If we do we’ll get you to bail us out,” laughed 
Way, as he swung the gate to behind him. “Nine 
o’clock sharp, Gordon!” 

Gordon nodded and the car went on again. “I’m 
rather afraid you’ll get nabbed,” remarked Dick. 
“But I don’t suppose anyone would be nasty about 
it. If I were you fellows I’d cut and run, Gordie, 
if anything happened.” 

“I suppose we will,” Gordon replied. “If we do 
I hope Lanny will turn off the engine before he 
jumps !” 

“Well, drop around in the morning and let me 
hear about it,” said the other as Gordon jumped 
out at his gate. “If I don’t see an announcement 
of your arrest in the paper I’ll take it that you got 
through all right.” 


108 


THE NEW SIGN 


“You won’t see any announcement of my arrest,” 
laughed Gordon. “I can run faster than any cop 
on the force, Dick !” 

“.Well, see that you do! So long!” 


f 


CHAPTER X 


THE BORROWED ROLLER 

S OME twelve years before a large tract of 
marsh and meadow lying west of the town 
and southeast of the river where it turns 
toward the sea had been purchased by Mr. Jonathan 
Brent. At the time no one conceived that any of 
the land except possibly a few blocks just beyond 
A Street would ever be marketable as residence lots. 
But Mr. Brent had gradually filled in, driving back 
the twisting creeks that meandered about the land, 
until many acres had been redeemed. Several new 
streets were laid out and Mr. Brent, retaining for 
his own occupancy a full block between Sawyer and 
Troutman Streets, had built himself a very hand- 
some residence. “Brentwood” was quite the finest 
mansion in Clearfield. When finished it was two 
blocks beyond the westernmost house in town, but 
it did not remain so long. Brent’s Addition proved 
popular and many citizens bought lots there and 
built, in some cases abandoning homes in the mid- 
no 


THE BORROWED ROLLER 
die of town that were already being elbowed by 
business blocks. Between Main and Common 

Streets, three blocks north of “Brentwood,” two 
squares had been left undivided and this ground 
was now the High School Athletic Field. West of 
that, building had not progressed to any great ex- 
tent as yet, although a few houses were scattered 
about the recently-made area. It was in this lo- 
cality at about half-past nine that Saturday 
night Lanny, Gordon, Way and one other found the 
street rollers. 

The fourth member of the expedition was Mor- 
ris Brent. Morris, it seemed, had recalled the fact 
that he had left a tennis racket and some balls on 
the court at the side of the house and had gone 
out to bring them in. On his return he had chanced 
to look toward the front gate and had glimpsed 
the three figures going west along Troutman Street. 
There was nothing extraordinary about that, but 
Morris had been impressed with a certain stealthi- 
ness displayed by the trio, and had also caught 
sight of a tow head under the dim light of a street 
lamp. Thereupon Morris had abandoned racket 
and balls on the front steps and hastened after the 
conspirators, finding that his surmise as to the 
identity of the light-haired youth was correct. His 
advent was welcomed, the purpose of the expedi- 
iii 


THE PURPLE PENNANT 
tion explained to him and the trio became a quar- 
tette. 

Save Morris not a person was glimpsed from 
Gordon’s house to their destination. The only per- 
son they were likely to meet was the policeman 
on that beat, and, since he had to cover a deal of 
territory, and was known to have a partiality for 
the better lighted district nearest town, the boys 
considered their chances of evading him were ex- 
cellent. Making certain that there was no watch- 
man about, they approached the smaller of the two 
rollers and considered it. It would have to be 
turned around and run back a half-block to the 
next street, north two blocks and then east to the 
Common Street side of the athletic field. The first 
difficulty that presented itself was that, contrary to 
the statement of the engineer, the fire under the 
boiler was not banked. In fact, there was very 
little fire there. This was explained by Morris. 
Being Saturday, he said, the engineers had left 
their fires to go out so they would not have to tend 
them until Monday morning. 

“Isn’t that the dickens?” asked Lanny. He lifted 
down a red lantern that hung from the engine and 
dubiously examined the steam gauge. “About ten 
pounds,” he muttered. “She won’t stir a step on 
that!” 


1 12 


THE BORROWED ROLLER 

“Guess, then, we'd better try it some other time," 
said Way. 

“No, sir, we're going to do it to-night," responded 
Lanny, after a moment’s consideration. “If we 
wait until the first of the week the field may dry 
off, and we want to roll it while it's still moist. 
The only thing to do is to get this fire going and 
make steam. It’ll take some time, but we can do 
it." 

“Easy," agreed Morris. Being newly admitted 
to the conspiracy, Morris was filled with enthusiasm. 
“Set the lantern down, Lanny, and I'll shovel some 
coal on." 

“All right. I’ll rake it a bit first, though." This 
was done and then, from the bin, Morris got sev- 
eral shovelfuls of soft coal and sprinkled it gingerly 
over the dying fire. Drafts were opened and the 
quartette sat down to wait. Fortunately, the night 
was fairly warm, otherwise the ensuing period 
might have been distinctly unpleasant, for this 
newer part of Brent's Addition was beautifully 
level, and what breeze was stirring came across the 
land unimpeded by anything larger than the two- 
inch shade trees along the incipient sidewalks. They 
talked in low tones, keeping a careful watch mean- 
while for the policeman. The last street light was 
at the end of the block and so, save for the lanterns 
n 3 


THE PURPLE PENNANT 
left by the workmen, they were in the darkness. 
Lanny, though, pointed to the sky back of the town. 
“The moon’s coming up,” he said, “and I’d like 
mighty well to be inside the field before it gets in 
its work.” 

“Same here,” agreed Gordon. The next instant 
he uttered a cautioning “S-s-sh!” and flattened him- 
self out against the side of the roller. Half a block 
away the officer on the beat had suddenly emerged 
from the shadows and was standing under the light, 
gazing, as it seemed to the boys, most interestedly 
toward them. There was a minute of suspense. 
“Think he saw us?” whispered Gordon. 

“Search me,” said Lanny. “I wish we’d had 
the sense to put the lantern back on the other side 
where we got it. Here he comes !” 

The officer had begun a slow but determined ap- 
proach. 

“Keep in the shadows,” advised Lanny, “and beat 
it back to the other roller! Don’t let him see 
you!” 

Silently, like four indistinct shadows, the boys 
slipped from their places and, keeping as best they 
could the dark bulk of the roller between them and 
the approaching policeman, scuttled up the road to 
where the larger machine stood. There was one 
doubtful moment when the light of the red lantern 
114 


THE BORROWED ROLLER 

fell upon them just before they dodged behind the 
big roller. 

“He will see the fire and know that something's 
up," whispered Way. “Let's skip, fellows!" 

“Hold on a minute," advised Lanny. “Maybe he 
won't. Wait and see." 

They peered anxiously around the edges of the 
big wheel behind which they were hidden. The 
policeman was dimly visible as he walked about the 
smaller roller. Finally he stopped and swung his 
stick a moment, picked up the red lantern and set 
it in the road beside the machine and, at last, slowly 
ambled back along the street. Breathlessly and 
hopefully they watched him reach the corner and 
disappear without a backward look. For a long two 
minutes after that they listened to the sound of his 
footsteps dying away on the new granolithic side- 
walk. Then : 

“Saved!" murmured Morris dramatically. 

“Come on," said Lanny. “We'll have to get 
that old shebang going even if we have to push it! 
The moon will be up in a few minutes." 

When they got back there was an encouraging 
purring sound from the engine and, without dis- 
turbing the lantern, Lanny borrowed a match from 
Morris and read the gauge. “Forty-something," 
he muttered as the light flickered out. “We’ll try 


THE PURPLE PENNANT 

her, anyway. Sneak back there to the corner, Gor- 
don, and see if you can hear or see anything of the 
cop. And hurry back. I’ll get her swung around, 
anyway.” 

Gordon scouted off and Lanny, while the other 
two boys held their breath anxiously, pulled a 
lever here, pushed something there and turned the 
wheel. There was a hiss, a jar, a clank and a rumble 
and the roller slowly moved away from the curbing. 

“She starts, she moves, she seems to fed 
The thrill of life along her keel! ,, 

murmured Morris poetically as Lanny sought ex- 
citedly for the reversing lever in the darkness. 
The roller stopped suddenly and qs suddenly began 
to back. Way, who had followed close behind, had 
just time to jump aside with a suppressed yelp be- 
fore the ponderous machine struck the curb with an 
alarming jolt. 

“Keep her head down !” exclaimed Morris. 
“Don’t let her throw you, Lanny !” 

“Give me that lantern up here,” panted the ama- 
teur engineer. “I can’t see what I’m doing.” 

Way handed the lantern to him and he hung it 
on a projection in front of him. After that progress 
was less erratic. It required much maneuvering to 
116 


THE BORROWED ROLLER 


get the roller headed the other way, but Lanny at 
last accomplished the difficult feat. Gordon re- 
turned to report that all was quiet. More coal was 
put into the furnace and the journey begun. Lan- 
ny’s plan to have someone walk ahead with a lan- 
tern was abandoned. Instead the light was put out 
and Lanny trusted to the faint radiance of the 
moon which was not yet quite above the house-tops. 
The corner was negotiated without difficulty and the 
Flying Juggernaut, as Gordon dubbed the machine, 
swung into a smooth, newly-surfaced street over 
which she moved easily if not silently. Gordon and 
Morris strode ahead to watch for obstructions and 
give warning while Way, as a sort of rear guard, 
remained behind in case pursuit appeared from that 
direction. 

What each of the four marveled at was why 
the entire town did not turn out to discover the 
reason for the appalling noise ! Perhaps the sound 
of the steam roller’s passage was not as deaf- 
ening as they imagined, but to them it seemed that 
the thumping and rattling and groaning could easily 
be heard on the other side of town! If it was, 
though, nothing came of it. Slowly but with a sort 
of blind inexorability quite awesome the Jugger- 
naut proceeded on her way. Lanny, his hand on the 
lever that would bring her to a stop, stood at his 
ii 7 


THE PURPLE PENNANT 


post like a hero, ready, however, to cut and run at 
the first alarm. It seemed the better part of an 
hour to him before the two blocks were traversed 
and Morris came back to announce that Common 
Street was reached. Over went the wheel and the 
Flying Juggernaut, grazing the curbing with a 
nerve-destroying rasp of steel against stone, turned 
toward the side entrance of the field. On the left 
now were several houses. Lights shone from win- 
dows. The boys held their breath as the last leg 
of the journey began. Suppose that, hearing the 
noise and viewing the unusual sight of a steam roller 
parading through the street at half-past ten o’clock, 
some busy-body should telephone to the police sta- 
tion! Morris didn’t like to think of it, and so, nat- 
urally, he mentioned it to Gordon. Gordon assured 
him that the contingency had already occurred to 
him and that if he saw a front door open he meant 
to disappear from the scene with unprecedented 
celerity, or words to that effect ! 

But the suspense ended at last, for there, on the 
right, a break in the shadowed darkness of the 
high fence, was the open gate. Lanny swung the 
roller far to the left and turned toward the en- 
trance. Then, however, a problem confronted them, 
which was how to get it over the curbing! They 
hadn’t planned for that. The sidewalk was a good 
118 


THE BORROWED ROLLER 
six inches above the street level, and, bringing the 
Juggernaut to a stop — the sudden silence was ab- 
solutely uncanny! — Lanny invited ideas. Morris 
offered the desperate plan of backing the roller to 
the far side of the street and putting on all steam. 
“Sort of lift her over, Lanny,” he urged. Lanny 
told him he was an idiot; that this thing was a 
steam roller and not a horse. In the end Morris, 
Way and Gordon went inside to look for planks or 
beams to lay along the curb, while Lanny, not too 
contented with his task, remained to guard the 
roller. They were gone a long time, or so, at least, 
it seemed to the engineer, but returned at last with 
enough lumber of varying lengths and thicknesses 
to answer the purpose. In the light of the inquir- 
ing moon, which was now sailing well above the 
tree-tops, they snuggled the planks and joists against 
the curbing, forming an abrupt but practical run- 
way, and, giving the Juggernaut all the steam there 
was, Lanny persuaded her to take the incline and 
to roll majestically through the gate and into the 
field. No sooner was she inside than Gordon swung 
the gate shut and secured it, and four boys, with one 
accord, drew four long, deep-drawn breaths of re- 
lief! 


CHAPTER XI 


GORDON DESERTS HIS POST 

A FTER that they listened cautiously, but heard 
only the soft sizzling of the engine which had 
a contented sound as though the Flying Jug- 
gernaut was quite as rejoiced at the successful out- 
come of the venture as they were ! More coal was 
put on, the grate was raked and Lanny content- 
edly announced that there was a sixty-pound head 
of steam on. By this time the field was bathed 
in moonlight save where the stands cast their black 
shadows, and the task remaining could not fail for 
lack of light. Forward moved the Juggernaut and 
there began the work of smoothing out the in- 
equalities of Brent Field. Perhaps had Lanny real- 
ized the size of the task he would never have ven- 
tured on it. Back and forth, commencing at the in- 
field end, rumbled and clanked the roller, each time 
covering some four feet of sward and gravel. An 
hour passed and they were still only as far as first 
and third base. Gordon voiced doubts. 


120 


GORDON DESERTS HIS POST 

“At this rate, Lanny, we won’t reach the fence 
back there before breakfast time. Can’t you make 
her go any faster?” 

“No, I can’t,” replied the engineer shortly, “and 
if you don’t like the way I’m doing this suppose you 
take a whack at it yourself.” 

“No, thanks. I’d probably run her right through 
the stand over there. I’m not criticising your 
handling of the thing, Lanny, but it’s getting a bit 
chilly and I’m sleepy and ” 

“Go on home then. I guess I can do this all right 
alone.” 

“Well, don’t be grouchy,” said Way. “After 
all, you’re the only one of us who’s getting any 
1 fun out of it. Just walking back and forth like 
this isn’t awfully exciting. Gee, I wish I had my 
sweater !” 

“Tell you what,” said Morris. “I’ll beat it down 
town and get some hot coffee !” 

“Oh, noble youth!” applauded Gordon. “Get a 
gallon of it, Morris! And some sandwiches ” 

“Or hot-dogs,” interpolated Way. 

“With plenty of mustard!” 

“Who’s got any money? I don’t think I’ve got 
more than fifteen or twenty cents. Dig down, fel- 
lows.” 

They “dug” and a minute later Morris was on 
121 


THE PURPLE PENNANT 

his way with the sufficient sum of eighty cents 
jingling in his pocket. Cheered by the anticipation 
of hot coffee and food, the others were restored to 
good humor. Lanny said he guessed the old con- 
cern would get along just as fast if they all got on 
it. They tried it and could see no difference in the 
rate of progress, and being near the boiler was a lot 
warmer than walking along in the little breeze that 
had come up with the moon. At Gordon’s sug- 
gestion, Lanny instructed him in running the ma- 
chine and, after a few trips back and forth, he took 
Lanny ’s place at the throttle while the latter was 
glad to get down and stretch his legs. They com- 
pleted the diamond and started on the outfield. 
Lanny declared that the work was a huge success, 
that the ground where they had rolled was as hard 
and level as a billiard table. 

“Of course,” he added, “it would be a lot better 
if w r e could go over it two or three times.” 

“Maybe,” said Gordon hurriedly, “but we’re not 
going over it two or three times, you simple idiot! 
Once is enough. My folks hate to have me late for 
breakfast !” 

“One good thing,” said Way, “is that to-morrow 
— no, to-day — is Sunday and we have breakfast 
later.” 

“So do we,” replied Gordon, “but I’m wondering 
122 


GORDON DESERTS HIS POST 
if I can sneak in without being caught. Wish I’d 
thought to unlock the porch window. I supposed 
we’d be all done this by twelve !” 

“If we get it done by four we’ll be lucky, I guess,” 
said Lanny. “There comes Morris.” 

“I could only get a quart,” panted Morris as he 
came up. “The chap in the lunch wagon was afraid 
he’d run short if he gave me any more. Here are 
some paper cups ; got those at the drug store. And 
here’s your grub ; eight ham and three hot-dog sand- 
wiches.” 

“Three?” ejaculated Gordon. 

“Yes, I ate one on the way. Stop your old push- 
cart till we feed.” 

“Better keep her going,” said Lanny. “We can 
eat en voyage .” 

“Didn’t get any of that,” replied Morris flip- 
pantly. “They were all out of it. Hold your cup, 
Way. Is it hot? I came back as fast as I could, 
but ” 

“Don’t you worry,” sputtered Way. “It’s hot 
enough to scald you. Good, too! M-mm!” 

For several minutes conversation ceased and only 
the rumble and clank of the roller broke the silence. 
Then, when the last crumb was gone and the paper 
cups had been added to the flames, there were four 
contented grunts. “That’s better,” said Lanny. 

123 


THE PURPLE PENNANT 
“Pm good for all night now. Let me have her, 
Gordon.” 

“Wait a bit. I’m having too good a time. What 
time is it?” 

“About quarter to one,” answered Way, studying 
the face of his watch in the moonlight. 

“That’s not so bad. How much more have we 
got, Lanny?” 

“I’d say we’d done just about half,” was the re- 
ply. “Better stop her and coal up a little.” 

“No stops this trip,” answered Gordon. “Coal 
ahead. I’ll get over here.” 

“What’s the matter with letting me work her a 
bit?” asked Morris, when the door was shut again. 
“Seeing that I saved your lives ” 

“Morris, old pal,” replied Gordon, gravely, “this 
requires science and experience. I’d let you take 
her in a minute, but if anything happened to her 
I’d be held responsible. You can be fireman, though, 
and shovel coal.” 

“Next time you can get your own coffee,” grum- 
bled Morris. “I had just enough money, by the 
way, to pay the lunch wagon chap, but I had to 
charge the drinking cups to you, Gordon.” 

“That’s more than I could do at Castle’s,” 
laughed Gordon. “Whoa ! Gee, I didn’t know that 
track was so close!” 


124 


GORDON DESERTS HIS POST 

“Get out of there before you go through the 
fence/’ said Lanny, pushing him aside. “Do you 
suppose we’d ought to roll the track, too, fellows ?” 

A chorus of “No’s” answered him. “Wouldn’t 
do the least bit of good,” added Way. “The track’s 
in rotten shape anyhow. I don’t see why we have 
to have the old thing. It’s only in the way. If you 
have to go back for a long fly it’s a safe bet you 
fall over the rim. What we ought to do is sod it 
over and ” 

“Tell that to Guy Felker,” advised Gordon. 
“Have you done any work with the team yet, 
Lanny ?” 

“I’ve had a couple of trials just to see what I 
could do. Guy is after me to give him three after- 
noons a week. I suppose I’ll have to pretty soon.” 

“Oh, bother the Track Team,” said Way. “It 
won’t amount to anything and you’ll lose baseball 
practice. Cut it out this year, Lanny.” 

“Not much! If it came to a show-down I’d 
rather run the hundred and two-twenty than play 
ball. And don’t you be mistaken about the team 
being no good. We’re going to have a mighty good 
team this year and we’re going to simply run away 
from Springdale. You wait and see.” 

“What of it if we do?” grumbled Way. “Who 
cares ?” * 


1 25 


THE PURPLE PENNANT 

“Most everyone except you, you old pudding- 
head,” responded Gordon. “Want me to take her 
awhile now, Lanny?” 

“No, thank you kindly. Guy’s having a pretty 
hard time to get fellows interested in the track, and 
that’s a fact, but he’s going to win out all right. 
Don’t go around talking' like that, Way, be- 
cause it isn’t fair. Just because you don’t care 
for track sports, you needn’t discourage other fel- 
lows.” 

“Oh, I haven’t said anything to discourage any- 
one. For that matter, if Guy wants to get a team 
together I wish him luck. But I don’t think there’s 
room for football and baseball and track, too. We 
ought to — to concentrate.” 

“Rot! Let’s beat Springdale at every old thing 
we can. Them’s my sentiments,” announced Mor- 
ris. “If we could do ’em up at tiddley-winks I’d be 
in favor of starting a team!” 

“And I suppose you’d play left wink on it,” 
laughed Way. 

It was well after three o’clock before the Flying 
Juggernaut completed her last trip across the field 
and the moon was well down toward the west. Four 
very tired boys — and sleepy, too, now that the 
effects of the coffee were working off — rolled across 
to the gate, unbarred it, rolled through, closed it 
126 


GORDON DESERTS HIS POST 
behind them, and set off again along Common 
Street. Somehow they cared less about discovery 
now and didn’t even take the trouble to lower their 
voices as they rumbled past the darkened houses. 
Morris announced that they had made a mistake in 
the name of the steam roller; that its right name 
was “Reverberating Reginald.” The others were 
too sleepy to argue about it, however. 

Gordon, who had taken Lanny’s place at the 
wheel, turned into the cross street and headed Reg- 
inald toward his berth. They didn’t take the pre- 
caution to send scouters ahead now, and perhaps it 
wasn’t worth while since the street lay plainly 
before them for several blocks. And perhaps what 
happened would have happened just the same. 
Lanny always insisted that it wouldn’t, but never 
could prove his point. At all events, what did hap- 
pen was this: 

Just as they had trundled over the crossing at 
Main Street a voice reached them above the noise 
of the roller and a figure suddenly stepped into the 
road a few yards ahead. One very startled glance 
at the figure was sufficient. With a fine unanimity 
four forms detached themselves from the sheltering 
gloom of the steam roller and fled back along the 
road. Possibly the policeman was so surprised at 
the sudden result of his challenge that pursuit did 
127 


THE PURPLE PENNANT 

not occur to him, or, possibly, the continued stately 
advance of the steam roller in his direction discon- 
certed him. At all events the boys became mere 
flying shapes in the distance before the officer took 
action. When he did he stepped nimbly out of the 
path of the roller and remarked stentoriously as it 
rumbled by: 

“Hi, there! What’s this? Where you goin’ 
with that roller, hey?” 

As there was no response he went after it, dis- 
covering to his surprise that the reason he had 
received no reply was that there was no one there 
to offer it! What occurred subsequently would 
have hugely diverted a spectator had there been 
one, which there wasn’t. On and on went the roller, 
moving further and further toward the sidewalk, 
and on and on trotted the policeman, making ineffec- 
tual efforts to board it. He had a very healthy 
respect for engines and wasn’t at all certain that 
this one might not resent his company. At last, 
however, desperation gave him courage and he 
stumbled onto the platform and began to pull, push 
or twist every movable thing he could lay hands 
on. The results were disconcerting. A cloud of 
white steam burst forth from somewhere with an 
alarming rush and hiss, a shrill, excruciating whistle 
shattered the night and a tiny stream of very hot 
128 


GORDON DESERTS HIS POST 

water sprayed down his sleeve ! But the roller kept 
right on rolling, majestically, remorselessly! 

The policeman gave up in despair and rapped 
loudly with his club for assistance. At that moment 
the roller, heedless of his appeal, reached the inter- 
section of Lafayette Street and, no longer restrained 
by the curbing against which it had been grinding, 
angled purposefully across and collided violently 
with a lamp-post. The lamp-post gave appreciably 
under the unexpected assault and the light flared 
wildly and expired. The steam roller, although its 
further progress was barred, kept on revolving its 
big wheels and the policeman, picking himself up, 
rescued his helmet from the coal-box and hurried 
from the scene. 


CHAPTER XII 


ON DICK’S PORCH 

A FTER that,” said Gordon, “I don’t know just 
what did happen. I was too busy getting 
away from there to look back. I cut across 
an open field and got into the shadow of the fence 
on Louise Street and pretty soon Way came along. 
Where Lanny and Morris got to I don’t know. 
Maybe they’re still running!” 

It was Sunday morning and Gordon and Dick' 
were seated on the latter’s porch. Dick, who had 
listened to his friend’s narration with much amuse- 
ment, laughed again. 

“And you forgot to turn off the steam before 
you jumped, eh?” 

“No, I didn’t exactly forget to,” replied Gordon 
judicially. “I thought of it, all right, but I couldn’t 
locate the throttle thing. You see, it all happened 
so suddenly that there wasn’t time to do much but 
run. That silly cop must have been standing in 
front of the little shed the contractors put up out 
130 


ON DICK’S PORCH 

there last year and we never suspected he was any- 
where around until he jumped out on us about 
twenty feet ahead. He shouldn’t have done that. 
He might have caused us heart-failure.” 

“Haven’t you been over yet to see what happened 
to the roller?” Dick asked. 

“I have not,” was the emphatic reply. “Maybe 
this afternoon I’ll sort of happen out there, but it 
might look suspicious if I went this morning. I 
suppose there’ll be a dickens of a row about it. 
There wasn’t anything in the paper, was there?” 
Gordon glanced at the Sunday Reporter on Dick’s 
knees. 

“No, but I suppose the paper was out before it 
happened. Do you think the policeman recognized 
any of you?” 

“I don’t know. He might. We didn’t give him 
much chance, but, still, it was broad moonlight. 
Gee, I’d like to know what happened to that 
roller!” 

“Call up the police station and ask,” suggested 
Dick gravely. 

“Yes, I will!” But Gordon’s tone contradicted 
the statement. “Guess I’ll call up Lanny and see if 
he got home. I had a fine time getting in. There 
wasn’t a window unlatched and I had to squirm 
through the coal hole. I made a horrible noise 

131 


THE PURPLE PENNANT 
when I dropped, too. I thought the coal would 
never get through sliding !” 

“Did you get caught ?” 

Gordon shook his head doubtfully. “I guess 
mother knows, all right, but I don’t think dad does. 
Anyway, he didn’t say anything. It was fierce 
having to get up at eight o’clock! I felt like a — 


“You still look like it,” laughed Dick. “Well, 
anyway, you got the job done, and that’s something, 
even if you do go to jail for a while!” 

“What do you suppose they’ll do ?” asked Gordon 
uneasily. 

“Oh, I don’t believe they’ll be hard on you. 
Maybe a small fine and a month in jail.” 

“Quit your kidding! If I go to jail I’ll see that 
you come, too.” 

“I’ve always understood that there was honor 
even amongst thieves,” responded the other, “but I 
see that I was — hello, see who’s here!” 

It was Lanny who closed the gate behind him 
and walked up the short path with a weary grin on 
his face. “Good morning,” he said, as he sank to 
the top step and leaned his head against the pillar. 
“Also good-night.” He closed his eyes and snored 
loudly. 

“What became of you?” asked Gordon. 

132 


ON DICK’S PORCH 

“What became of me?” Lanny opened his eyes 
protestingly. “When do you mean?” 

“Last night, of course. Where did you run to?” 

“Last night ? Run ? I don’t understand you. I 
went to bed quite early last night and slept very 
nicely. Once I thought I heard a noise, a sort of 
jarring, rumbling noise, but I paid no attention to 
it. What a beautiful morning it is! ‘O Beauteous 

Spring, thou art ’ ” His head settled back 

against the pillar again. 

The others laughed, and Dick remarked soberly: 
“I suppose you’ve heard that they got Morris ?” 

Lanny opened his eyes once more and winked 
gravely. “I just had him on the phone a few min- 
utes ago.” He smiled wanly. “He couldn’t get in 
the house when he got back and had to sleep out 
in the stable in a carriage.” 

“How about you?” asked Gordon. 

Lanny waved a hand carelessly. “No trouble at 
all. Merely shinned up a water-spout and got in 
the linen closet window. Then I fell over a carpet- 
sweeper and went to bed. I shall insist on having 
a latch-key after this.” 

“But where the dickens did you and Morris run 
to ?” insisted Gordon. “I never saw you once after 
I turned into the field.” 

“By that time I was shinning up the spout,” 
1 33 


THE PURPLE PENNANT 

replied Lanny. “You see, I had a fine start on you, 
Gordie. I don’t know just what my time was for 
the distance, but I’ll bet it was mighty good. I’m 
pretty sure that I did the first two-twenty yards in 
something under twenty seconds! As for Morris, 
I never saw him. He says he fell over something 
and lay in the grass for about half an hour and then 
went home by way of the river. Something of a 
detour, that!” 

“Well, tell me one thing, Lanny,” said Dick. 
“Did the rolling do the field any good ?” 

Lanny became almost animated. “It certainly 
did ! Want to go over and have a look at it?” Dick 
shook his head. “Well, it made a lot of difference. 
Of course, as I told the others, it ought to have been 
gone over two or three times to get it in real good 
shape, but it’s at least a hundred per cent, better 
than it was before. I was afraid it might be too 
dry, but it wasn’t. That old roller just squashed it 
right down in great style. I think we broke the 
board around the track in a few places, but it was 
pretty rotten anyway.” 

“That’s good; I mean about the field. As I just 
said to Gordie, if you fellows have got to go to jail 
it’s sort of a satisfaction that you accomplished 
something. I’ll send you fruit and old magazines 
now and then, and a month will soon pass.” 

134 


ON DICK’S PORCH 

“Is that really and truly so? Your kindness " 

“And I told him,” interrupted Gordon, “that if 
we went to jail I'd see that he went along." 

“Naturally." Lanny hugged his knees and smiled 
pleasantly at Dick. “We couldn’t be happy without 
you, Dickums. Yes, you’ll have to go along even 
if it’s necessary for us to swear that you were the 
ring-leader. I’d be sorry for your folks, Dick, 

but " Lanny shook his head inexorably. Then : 

“By the by, what about Way?” 

“I left him at the corner of Common Street," 
replied Gordon. “I guess he managed all right." 

“He ought to have; he’s the manager," said 
Lanny, with a yawn. “My word, fellows, but I’m 
sleepy! And I had to pretend to be Little Bright- 
Eyes at breakfast, too. I know I’ll fall asleep in 
church and snore!" 

“Do you think that cop recognized us, Lanny?" 
Gordon asked. 

“Don’t ask me. If he did we’ll know about it 
soon enough. Look here, whose idea was it, any- 
way? Who got us into this scrape?" 

“Of course, you didn’t," answered Gordon 
gravely, “and I’m certain I didn’t. I guess it was 
Dick, wasn’t it?" 

Lanny seemed about to assent until Dick reached 
for a crutch. Then: “No, I don’t think it was 
135 


THE PURPLE PENNANT 
Dick,” he replied. “You have only to look at his 
innocent countenance to know that he would never 
do such a thing. Guess it was Morris. He isn't 
here, and, besides, his dad’s got enough influence 
and coin to buy him off. I’m certain it was Morris.” 

“So it was ; I remember now. Another time we’ll 
know better than to listen to his evil suggestions.” 
And Gordon sighed deeply. 

“He’s older than we are, too, which makes it 
more — more deplorable.” 

“You have a wonderful command of the English 
language this morning,” laughed Dick. “I’d love 
to listen to you some time when you’re feeling fresh 
and quite wide-awake!” 

“Thank you for those few kind words,” re- 
sponded Lanny gratefully. “I shan’t attempt to 
conceal from you the fact that I am slightly drowsy 
to-day. Well, I’ve got to go back and report for 
church parade. You coming, Gordie?” 

“I suppose so.” Gordon got up with a sigh. 

“Come around after dinner,” suggested Dick, 
“and we’ll get in Eli and take a ride. We might 
roll around to the scene of the late unpleasantness 
and see what finally happened to that roller!” 

“All right,” Lanny agreed, “only don’t display 
too great an interest in the thing when you get there. 
Let us be — er — circumspect.” 

136 


ON DICK’S PORCH 


“I don’t like the sound of that word,” murmured 
Gordon ; “that is, the first and last syllables ! Change 
it to ‘cautious/ Lanny.” 

“Very well, let us be cautious. Farewell, Dick- 
umsl” 

Their visit in the runabout to Brent’s Addition 
that afternoon proved unsatisfactory. The steam 
roller, looking as innocent as you like, was back 
where they had found it and there was nothing to 
tell what had happened subsequent to their hurried 
departure. It was not until Monday morning that 
they had their curiosity satisfied, and then it was 
the Reporter that did it. The Reporter had chosen 
to treat the story with humor, heading it 

ROAD ROLLER RUNS AMUCK! 

It told how Officer Suggs, while patrolling his 
lonely beat on the outskirts of our fair 
city, had had his attention attracted by myste- 
rious sounds on Aspen Avenue. The intrepid 
guardian of the law had thereupon concealed him- 
self in ambush just in time to behold, coming to- 
ward him, one of the Street Department’s steam 
rollers. Ordered to stop and give an account of 
itself, the roller had promptly attacked the officer. 
The latter, with rare presence of mind, leaped to a 
137 


THE PURPLE PENNANT 

place of safety and the roller, emitting a roar of 
rage and disappointment, tried to escape. Then fol- 
lowed a vivid account of the pursuit, the disorderly 
conduct of the roller, the wanton attack on the lamp- 
post and the final subjugation and arrest of the 
marauder, an arrest not consummated until several 
members of the police force and employees of the 
Street Department had been hurried to the scene. 
It made a good story and at least five of the Re- 
porter's readers enjoyed it vastly. To their relief 
the paper ended with the encouraging statement that 
“so far the police are unable to offer any satisfac- 
tory explanation of the affair. Superintendent 
Burns, of the Street Department, hints that some 
person or persons unknown had a hand in the mat- 
ter, but to the Reporter it looks like a remarkable 
case of inanimate depravity.” 

And that ended the matter, save that eventually 
the true story leaked out, as such things will, and 
became generally known throughout the school. 
Whether it ever reached the ears of Superintendent 
Burns is not known. If it did he took no action. 

Brent Field profited in any case. That Monday 
afternoon the improvement in the condition of the 
ground was so noticeable that many fellows re- 
marked on it. Fortunately, though, they were quite 
satisfied with the casual explanation that it had been 

138 


ON DICK’S PORCH 

“fixed up a bit,” and for some reason the marks left 
by the passage of the roller, plainly visible, failed to 
connect themselves with the story in that morning’s 
paper. Perhaps the principal reason for this was 
that very few of the fellows read anything in the 
Reporter outside of the sporting page. The infield, 
and especially the base paths, was more level and 
smoother than it had ever been, and during practice 
that afternoon there were far fewer errors that 
could be laid to inequalities of the surface. To be 
sure, when Harry Bryan let a ball bound through 
his hands he promptly picked up a pebble and dis- 
gustedly tossed it away, but the excuse didn’t carry 
the usual conviction. 

Practice went well that afternoon. Fielding was 
cleaner and it really looked to Dick as though his 
charges were at last finding their batting eyes. 
Bryan, Cotner and Merrick all hit the ball hard in 
the four-inning contest with the practice team, the 
former getting two two-baggers in two turns at bat 
and Cotner connecting with one of Tom Nostrand’s 
offerings for a three-base hit. The First Team had 
no trouble in winning the decision, the score being 
5 to i. Meanwhile, on the cinders the Track Team 
candidates were busy, and over on the Main Street 
side of the field, where the pits were located, the 
jumpers and weight-throwers were trying them- 
139 


THE PURPLE PENNANT 
selves out as extensively as the ever- watchful 
“Skeet” would allow. Fudge Shaw, looking heroic 
— and slightly rotund — in a brand-new white shirt, 
trunks and spiked shoes, was taking his turn with 
the shot. So far only three other youths had chosen 
to contest with him for the mastery in this event, 
but unfortunately for Fudge two of the three were 
older fellows with experience and brawn. One, 
Harry Partridge, a senior and a tackle on the foot- 
ball team, was in command of the shot-putters. 
Partridge was a good sort usually, Fudge consid- 
ered, but to-day he was certainly impatient and cen- 
sorious, not to mention sarcastic ! 

“Look here, Fudge,” he asked after the tyro had 
let the shot roll off the side of his hand and dribble 
away for a scant twelve feet in a direction perilously 
close to a passing broad- jumper, “who ever told you 
you could put the shot, anyway? You don’t know 
the first thing about it! Now come back here and 
let me tell you for the fiftieth time that the shot 
leaves your hand over the tips of your fingers and 
doesn’t roll off the side. Pm not saying anything 
just now about your spring or your shoulder work. 
All Pm trying to do is to get it into that ivory ki ob 
of yours that the shot rests here and that it leaves 
your hand so! Now cut out all the movements and 
let me see you hold it right and get it away right. 

140 


ON DICK’S PORCH 

Thank you, that’s very rotten! Go ahead, Thad. 
Try not to foul this time. You start too far for- 
ward. That’s better! Did you see — look here, 
Shaw, if you’re out here to put the shot you watch 
what’s going on and never mind the jumpers! If 
you don’t watch how these other fellows do it you 
never will learn! All right, Falkland!” 

“Maybe,” said Fudge when he and Perry were 
walking home, “maybe I’d rather be a broad- 
jumper, anyway. This shot-putting’s a silly stunt!” 


CHAPTER XIII 


FOILED ! 

W HETHER Fudge really believed all he 
professed to regarding the mysterious 
occupant of Room 12 in the brick build- 
ing on G Street is a question. Fudge, being an 
author of highly sensational romances, doubtless 
possessed a little more imagination than common 
and liked to give it free rein. Probably it is safe 
to say that he believed about half. Perry, less imag- 
inative and far more practical, had been at first 
taken in by Fudge and had really credited most if 
not quite all that Fudge had asserted. When, how- 
ever, another week passed and nothing startling 
happened, he began to lose faith. Almost every 
morning the supposed desperado ate his breakfast 
in full view of Perry very much as anyone else 
would have eaten it, rationally clothed and exhibit- 
ing absolutely none of the tricks or manners popu- 
larly associated with criminals. He did not, for 
instance, suddenly pause to glance furtively from 
142 


FOILED ! 


the window. Nor did he ever, when Perry was 
looking, shrug his shoulders as villains always did 
on the screen at the theater. In short, as a crim- 
inal he was decidedly disappointing! 

One morning he actually laughed. Perry couldn’t 
hear the laugh, but he could see it, and there was 
nothing sardonic about it. It was just a jolly, 
chuckling sort of laugh, apparently inspired by 
something in the morning paper. Perry’s own 
features creased in sympathy. After that Perry 
found it very difficult to place credence in the “safe- 
breaker” theory. Then, too, Fudge failed to de- 
velop any new evidence. In fact, to all appear- 
ances, Fudge had gone to sleep on his job. When 
Perry mentioned the matter to him Fudge would 
frown portentously and intimate that affairs had 
reached a point where mental rather than physical 
exertion counted most. Perry, though, was no 
longer deceived. 

“Huh,” he said one day, “there was nothing in 
that yarn of yours and you’ve found it out. What’s 
the good of pretending any more?” 

Fudge looked sarcastic and mysterious but re- 
fused to bandy words. His “If-you-knew-all-I- 
know” air slightly impressed the other, and Perry 
begged to be taken into the secret. But Fudge 
showed that he felt wounded by his friend’s defec- 
143 


THE PURPLE PENNANT 
tion and took himself off in dignified silence. When 
he had reached home and had settled himself on the 
platform in the apple tree, however, Fudge realized 
that his reputation and standing as an authority on 
crime and its detection was in danger. Something, 
consequently, must be done to restore Perry’s confi- 
dence. But what? He thought hard and long, so 
long that twilight grew to darkness before he left 
his retreat and hurried to the house for supper. He 
had, though, solved his problem. 

The next day, which was Saturday, he presented 
himself at Perry’s at a little after nine o’clock. 
Perry, who had been practicing starts on the weed- 
grown path at the side of the house, joined him 
on the front porch somewhat out of breath and with 
his thoughts far from the subject of crime and crim- 
inals, clews and detectives. One glance at Fudge’s 
countenance, however, told him that matters of im- 
portance were about to be divulged. He pocketed 
his grips and prepared to listen and be impressed. 
Briefly, what Fudge had to say was this : 

He had, he found, been slightly mistaken regard- 
ing Mr. Myron Addicks. The mistake was a nat- 
ural one. It consisted of classifying Mr. Addicks 
as a safe-breaker instead of a train-robber. Fudge 
did not explain clearly by what marvelous mental 
processes he had arrived at a knowledge of his error, 
144 


FOILED ! 


or perhaps the fault was with Perry’s understand- 
ing. At all events, the result was there and already 
his new theory had been proven correct. He had 
that very morning, not more than twenty minutes 
ago, read, in the local office of the American Ex- 
press Company, a description of one “Edward Hur- 
ley, alias John Crowell, alias John Penney,” wanted 
by the company for the robbery of an express car at 
Cartwright, Utah, on February seventeenth last, 
which exactly tallied with the appearance of Mr. 
Myron Addicks, allowing, of course, for certain 
efforts at disguise. Fudge had copied the salient 
points of the placard in the express office and re- 
ferred now to his memorandum, written on the back 
of a money order blank : “Age, about 28. Height, 
5 feet, 10 inches. Weight, about 170 pounds. Dark 
brown hair, blue eyes, complexion dark. Was clean- 
shaven when last seen, but has probably grown 
beard or mustache. Carries himself erect. Has 
white scar about two inches in length on back of 
left forearm.” 

“There was a picture of him, too,” said Fudge, 
“but I guess it wasn’t a very good one, because he 
had his head thrown back and his eyes half closed 
and was scowling like anything. It must have been 
taken by the police.” 

“What is the reward ?” asked Perry breathlessly. 

145 


THE PURPLE PENNANT 

“Five hundred dollars, it said. Maybe they'd 
pay more, though." 

“That would be two hundred and fifty apiece,” 
reflected the other. “That wouldn’t be so bad, 
would it? But — but it doesn’t seem to me that the 
description is much like this fellow. Did the picture 
look like him?” 

“Well,” replied Fudge judicially, “it did and then 
again it didn’t. You see, the fellow’s face was all 
screwed up, and he didn’t have any mustache. A 
mustache makes a lot of difference in your looks, 
you know. But the description fits him to a T. 
‘Dark brown hair, blue eyes ’ ” 

“I don’t think this chap’s eyes are blue, 
though.” 

“I’ll bet you anything they are! What color are 
they then?” 

“I don’t know,” confessed Perry. 

“No, and there you are! He’s about five feet, 
ten inches high^ isn’t he?” Perry nodded doubtfully. 
“And he weighs about a hundred and seventy 
pounds, doesn’t he? And his complexion’s dark 
and he carries himself erect! And he has a false 
mustache, and the notice said he would probably 
have one. Oh, it’s our man all right! Don’t you 
worry! Besides, don’t you see this explains his 
wearing that cowboy get-up you saw him in ? That’s 
146 


FOILED! 

probably what he was. Lots of train-robbers were 
cowboys first-off.” 

“Maybe,” said Perry thoughtfully. “But — but 
supposing we proved it on him.” 

“Well?” 

“Would you want to — to give him away?” 

Fudge hesitated. “I wouldn't want to,” he said 
at last, “but it’s the duty of a good citizen to aid in 
the apprehension of lawbreakers, isn't it? And, 
besides, someone would get that five hundred sooner 
or later, wouldn’t they? Bound to! You bet! 
Well, there you are!” 

But Perry looked unconvinced. “I don't think 
I’d like to,” he murmured presently. “Anyhow, 
maybe we’re mistaken. Maybe his eyes aren’t blue. 
If we could get a look at his arm ” 

“That’s just what we’ve got to do,” replied Fudge. 
“That’s what will tell.” 

“But how?” 

“I haven’t decided that yet. There are ways. 
You leave it to me. I guess he’s just hiding out 
here, Perry. I mean I don’t believe he is thinking 
of doing another job just yet. He’s probably wait- 
ing for this to blow over. I told you he was a 
slick one !” 

“But if he really was wanted for robbing that 
train,” objected Perry, “it doesn’t seem to me he’d 
147 


THE PURPLE PENNANT 
show himself around the way he’s doing. He’d 
hide, wouldn’t he, Fudge?” 

“Where ? He is hiding. He wears that mustache 
and he’s trusting to that, you see. Why, if he went 
sneaking around the police would notice him at 
once, Perry. So he comes right out in public ; makes 
believe he’s a civil engineer and plays the piano in 
a theater. You don’t suppose, do you, that the 
police would ever think of looking in a moving 
picture house for an escaped tra in- robber ? Say, 
he must sort of laugh to himself when he sees those 
train-robbery films, eh ?” 

“But if he wears that mustache when he goes 
out, Fudge, why does he take it off when he’s in 
his room?” 

“Maybe it isn’t comfortable. I should think it 
mightn’t be.” 

“Yes, but he must know that most anyone can 
see him when he sits at his window like that in the 
morning.” 

Fudge was silent for a moment. Then : “Perhaps 
he doesn’t think of that,” he suggested weakly. 
“Anyhow, what we’ve got to do is see first if his 
eyes are blue, and after that whether he has a 
scar on his arm. We might wait in front of the 
theater this afternoon, only there’s the ball game 
and we don’t want to miss that.” 

148 


FOILED! 


“That isn’t until three, and the theater begins 
at two.” 

“That’s so! We’ll do it, then! I’ll be around 
right after dinner, and we’ll watch for him. Say, 
what would you do with two hundred and fifty 
dollars, Perry?” 

Perry shook his head. “I don’t know. Guess 
I’d give it to dad, all but twenty-five dollars, maybe. 
What would you?” 

Fudge shook his head also. “Search me ! Well, 
we haven’t got it yet. I guess I could find things 
to do with it all right. Say, you don’t suppose he’s 
at his window now, do you?” 

They ascended to Perry’s room and looked across, 
but the opposite casement was vacant. Nor, al- 
though they kept watch for a good ten minutes, 
did they catch sight of the suspect. They returned 
to the porch. “What we might do,” said Fudge 
reflectively, “is go and see him and make believe we 
wanted some civil engineering done.” 

“We’d look fine doing that!” scoffed Perry. 
“He’d know right away we were faking.” 

“I guess so,” Fudge acknowledged. “We might 
get someone else to do it, though.” 

“Who?” 

“Well, you might ask your father.” 

“I might, but I’m not likely to,” was the derisive 

149 


THE PURPLE PENNANT 
response. “Besides, all we’ve got to do is to get 
a good look at him to see whether his eyes are blue 
or not.” 

“You don’t suppose folks can change the color 
of their eyes, do you ?” 

“Of course not! How could they?” 

Fudge shook his head. “Criminals know lots of 
tricks we don’t,” he replied. “But we’ll soon see.” 

Whereupon Perry went back to practicing starts 
in the side yard and Fudge, finding a rock, gave 
an interesting imitation of putting the shot. 

They reached the theater at twenty-five minutes 
before two. Fudge apologized for being a trifle 
late, explaining that his mother had sent him on an 
errand directly after dinner in spite of his plea of 
an important engagement. Still, there was no doubt 
but that they were in plenty of time, for the orches- 
tra did not assemble until a few minutes before two. 
As there was already quite a throng awaiting the 
opening of the doors, they decided to separate and 
take opposite sides of the entrance. This they did, 
Fudge assuming an expression and demeanor so 
purposeless that Perry feared he would be arrested 
as an escaped lunatic by the policeman on duty 
there. Several hundreds of persons passed into 
the theater, but neither of the boys caught sight of 
their quarry, and when, at two o’clock, the strains 

150 


FOILED ! 


of the orchestra reached them, they had to confess 
themselves defeated. By that time the crowd had 
thinned out to a mere dribble of late arrivals and 
the officer was, or seemed to them to be, eyeing them 
with growing suspicion. They were glad when they 
had escaped from his chilly stare. 

“I don’t see ” began Perry. 

“ I do!” Fudge interrupted bitterly. “We’re a 
couple of chumps! Why, the orchestra chaps go 
in the stage entrance, of course ! And that’s around 
in the alley off Pine Street ! Gee, we’re a fine pair 
of dummies, aren’t we?” 

There was no denying it and so Perry mutely con- 
sented with a sorrowful nod. 

“Well, we’ll know better next time,” said Fudge 
more cheerfully. “Come on into Castle’s and have 
a soda. Only it’ll have to be a five-center, because 
I’m pretty nearly strapped. Sleuthing makes a 
fellow thirsty.” 

Ten minutes later the amateur detectives, for- 
getting their defeat and cheered by two glasses of 
cherry phosphate, started for the field. 


CHAPTER XIV 


THE GAME WITH NORRISVILLE 

T HIS afternoon’s contest was the first one of 
the season with an outside team. Norris- 
ville Academy, since it was a boarding 
school, had the advantage of being able to get into 
condition rather earlier in the year than Clearfield 
High School. To-day’s opponents had, in fact, been 
practicing regularly since the latter part of Febru- 
ary, since they were so fortunate as to possess a 
fine gymnasium with a big and practical baseball 
cage. Aside from this advantage, however, Nor- 
ris ville had nothing Clearfield hadn’t, and if the 
latter had enjoyed another fortnight of practice 
Dick Lovering would have had no doubt as to the 
outcome of the game. But as things were he told 
himself that he would be quite satisfied if his 
charges came through with something approaching 
a close score. 

It was a splendid April day, warm and still. 
There were a good many clouds about, though, and 

152 


THE GAME WITH NORRISVILLE 
the morning paper had predicted showers. With 
this in mind, Dick resolved to get a good start in 
the first few innings, if that were possible, and so 
presented a line-up that surprised the large audi- 
ence of High School rooters that had turned out 
for the game. As set down in Manager Wayland’s 
score-book, the order of batting was as follows: 
Bryan, 2b; Farrar, cf ; Merrick, ib; Jones, ss; Scott, 
3b; McCoy, If; Breen, rf; White, c; Nostrand, p. 
This arrangement in Dick’s present judgment pre- 
sented the team’s best batting strength. Tom Nos- 
trand was put in the box instead of Tom Haley, 
since so far this spring he had out-hit the first- 
choice pitcher almost two to one. It takes runs 
to win a game and runs were what Dick was after. 

Fudge, occupying one and a third seats behind 
the home plate, flanked by Perry on one side and 
Arthur Beaton, the Track Team Manager, on the 
other, viewed the selection of talent dubiously. 
More than that, he didn’t hesitate to criticize. Fudge 
never did. He was a good, willing critic. No one, 
though, took him seriously, unless, perhaps, it was 
the devoted Perry, who, knowing little of baseball, 
was ready to concede much knowledge of the sub- 
ject to his chum. Arthur Beaton, however, frankly 
disagreed with Fudge’s statements. 

“Forget it, Fudge,” he said. “Dick Lovering 
153 


THE PURPLE PENNANT 
knew baseball when you were waving a rattle. Talk 
about things you understand.” 

“Of course he knows baseball. I’m not saying 
he doesn’t, am I? What I’m telling you is that Joe 
Browne’s a heap better fielder than Howard Breen.” 

“Maybe, but he isn’t worth two cents as a hit- 
ter.” 

“That’s all right. If a fellow fields well enough 
he doesn’t have to be any Ty Cobb to make good. 
It’s all right to go after runs, but if you let the 
other fellow get runs, too, what good are you doing? 
If they whack a ball into right field it’ll be good 
for three bases, I tell you. Breen’s as slow as cold 
molasses and can’t throw half-way to the plate!” 

“You’d better slip down there before it’s too late 
and tell that to Dick,” said Arthur sarcastically. 
“He’d be mighty glad to know it.” 

“That’s all right, old scout. You wait and see 
if I’m not right. I just hope the first fellow up 
lams one into right !” 

He didn’t though ; he popped a foul to Lanny and 
retired to the bench. The succeeding “Norris- 
villains,” as Fudge called them, were quickly dis- 
posed of at first, and Harry Bryan went to bat for 
the home team. Bryan was a heady batsman and 
had a reputation for getting his base. He wasn’t 
particular how he did it. He was a good waiter, 
154 


THE GAME WITH NORRISVILLE 

had a positive genius for getting struck with the 
ball and could, when required, lay down a well- 
calculated bunt. Once on the base, he was hard to 
stop. On this occasion, he followed Dick’s instruc- 
tions and was walked after six pitched balls. Pete 
Farrar waited until Clayton, the Norrisville pitcher, 
had sent a ball and a strike over and then trundled 
one down the first base path that started well but 
unfortunately rolled out, to the immense relief of 
the hovering Norrisville pitcher and first-baseman. 
With two strikes against him, it was up to Pete to 
hit out of the infield, but Captain Jones, coaching 
at first, sent Bryan off to second and&Pete’s swipe 
at the ball missed. Bryan, though, was safe by 
three feet, and the stands applauded wildly and 
saw in imagination the beginning of Clearfield’s 
scoring. But Bryan never got beyond second in 
that inning. Gordon Merrick flied out to shortstop 
and Captain Warner Jones, trying his best to hit 
between second and short, lined one squarely into 
second-baseman’s glove. 

Nostrand held the enemy safe once more, al- 
though the second man up got to first on Scott’s 
error and slid safely to second when the third bats- 
man was thrown out, Scott to Merrick. A fly to 
McCoy in left field ended the suspense. 

It was Will Scott who started things going for 
155 


THE PURPLE PENNANT 
the Purple. He was first up and caught the second 
offering on the end of his bat and landed it in 
short right for a single. McCoy sacrificed nicely 
and Scott took second. Breen there and then vin- 
dicated Dick’s judgment. After Clayton had put 
himself in a hole by trying to give Breen what he 
didn’t want, and after the onlookers had gone 
through a violent attack of heart-failure when Will 
Scott was very nearly caught off second, Breen 
found something he liked the look of and crashed 
his bat against it with the result that Scott sped 
home and Breen rested on second. 

Dick summoned Lanny and whispered to him 
and Lanny nodded and strode to the plate swinging 
the black bat that was his especial pride and affec- 
tion. Norrisville played in and Lanny did what 
they expected he would try to do, but did it so well 
that their defense was unequal to the task. His 
bunt toward third was slow and short. Breen landed 
on the next bag and Lanny streaked for first. Both 
third-baseman and catcher went after the bunt and 
there was an instant of indecision. Then third- 
baseman scooped up the ball and pegged to first. 
But Lanny, whose record for sixty yards was six 
and four-fifths seconds, beat out the throw. 

Nostrand played a waiting game and had two 
strikes and a ball on him before Lanny found his 
156 


THE GAME WITH NORRISVILLE 


chance to steal. Then, with a good getaway, he 
slid to second unchallenged, Nostrand swinging and 
missing. With men on third and second and but 
one down, the world looked bright to the Clearfield 
supporters, but when, a moment later, Nostrand’s 
attempt at a sacrifice fly popped high and fell into 
shortstop’s hands, the outlook dimmed. 

But there was still hope of more runs. With 
Bryan up, Clearfield might get a hit. The Nor- 
risville catcher, though, decided that Bryan would 
be better on first than at bat and signaled for a 
pass. Four wide ones were pitched and Harry trot- 
ted to first and the bases were filled. Theoretically, 
the Norrisville catcher was right, for with two out 
three on bases were no more dangerous than two, 
and he knew that the next batsman, Pete Farrar, 
had earned his location in the line-up because of 
his ability to sacrifice rather than to hit out. But 
for once theory and practice didn’t agree. Farrar, 
barred from bunting, resolved to go to the other 
extreme and hit as hard and as far as he could — if 
he hit at all. For a minute or two it looked as 
though he was not to hit at all, for Clayton kept 
the ball around Farrar’s knees and registered two 
strikes against him before Pete realized the fact. 
Then came a ball and then a good one that Pete 
fouled behind first base. Another ball, and the tally 
157 


THE PURPLE PENNANT 
was two and two. Again Pete connected and sent 
the ball crashing into the stand. Clayton’s attempt 
to cut the comer resulted badly for him, for the 
umpire judged it a ball. Anxious coachers danced 
and shouted jubilantly. 

“He’s got to pitch now, Pete!” bawled Captain 
Jones. “It’s got to be good! Here we go! On 
your toes, Breen! Touch all the bases, Harry! Yip! 
Yip! Yip! Yi ” 

The last “Yip” was never finished, for just when 
Warner was in the middle of it bat and ball met 
with a crack and a number of things happened simul- 
taneously. The ball went streaking across the in- 
field, rising as it went, Breen scuttled to the plate, 
Lanny flew to third, Harry Bryan sped to second, 
Pete legged it desperately to first. Second-baseman 
made a wild attempt to reach the ball, but it passed 
well above his upstretched glove and kept on. Right- 
and center-fielders started in, hesitated, changed 
their minds and raced back. The spectators, on their 
feet to a boy — or girl — yelled madly as fielders and 
ball came nearer and nearer together far out beyond 
the running track in deep center. A brief moment of 
suspense during which the shouting died down to 
little more than a murmur and then the outcome 
was apparent and the yelling suddenly arose to 
new heights. The fielders slowed down in the 
158 


THE GAME WITH NORRISVILLE 
shadow of the distant fence, but not so the ball. It 
made a fine, heroic effort to pass out of the field 
but couldn’t quite do it. Instead it banged against 
the boards a few inches from the top and bounded 
back. It was right-fielder who recovered it and 
who, turning quickly, made a fine throw to second- 
baseman. And second-baseman did all he could 
to cut that hit down to a three-bagger, but Pete was 
already scuttling to the plate when the ball left his 
hand and the throw, being hurried, took the catcher 
just far enough to the right to let Pete in. Pete, 
catcher and ball became interestingly mixed to- 
gether for an instant in a cloud of dust and then the 
umpire, stooping and spreading his arms with palms 
downward, returned his verdict. 

“He’s safe!” declared the official. 

The breathless Pete was extricated and pulled 
triumphantly to the bench while Norrisville, rep- 
resented by catcher and pitcher and shortstop, who 
was also captain, gathered around the home plate 
to record their displeasure at the decision. But Mr. 
Cochran, physical director at the Y. M. C. A., dis- 
couraged argument and waved them aside politely 
but firmly and, while the cheering died away, Gor- 
don Merrick went to bat. Clayton was shaken by 
that home-run and seemed absolutely unable to tell 
where the plate was, although the catcher despair- 
159 


THE PURPLE PENNANT 
ingly invited him to come up and have a look at it ! 
Gordon smiled serenely and presently walked to 
first. Captain Jones sent him to second with a nice 
hit past shortstop and Clearfield got ready to ac- 
claim more tallies. But Scott’s best was a slow 
grounder to shortstop and he made the third 
out. 

Five runs, however, was enough to win the game, 
or so, at least, the delighted Clearfield supporters 
declared. And so, too, thought the players them- 
selves. As for their coach, Dick hoped the game 
was safe, but he meant to take no chances and so 
when in the next inning, after his own players had 
failed to add to the total, Norrisville began to show 
a liking for Tom Nostrand’s delivery by getting two 
safeties and putting a man on third before the side 
was retired, Dick sent Tom Haley to warm up. 

There was no more scoring by either team until 
the first of the sixth. Then Haley had a bad inning. 
The first Norrisville batter laid down a bunt toward 
the pitcher’s box and Tom, fielding it hurriedly, 
pegged it far over Merrick’s head. The runner 
slid to second in safety. That mishap unsettled 
Haley and he filled the bases by passing the next 
two men. That Clearfield finally got out of the hole 
with only two runs against her might well be con- 
sidered a piece of good fortune. In the last of the 
160 


THE GAME WITH NORRIS VILLE 


sixth Clearfield added one more tally and the score 
stood 6 to 2. Neither side scored in the seventh. 

For my part, I’d like to lower the curtain. Clear- 
field should have had that game. But it wasn’t to 
be. Perhaps the home players were too certain. At 
all events, errors began to crop out at the most un- 
fortunate times, and these, coupled with Tom 
Haley’s erratic pitching, were the Purple’s undoing. 
It was Captain Jones himself who booted an easy 
hit that might have been a double and instead of 
retiring the side in the first of the eighth, let two 
more runs cross the plate. Then Haley hit a bats- 
man, donated a third base on balls and finally al- 
lowed a hard-slugging Norrisville man to slap out a 
two-bagger. When the worst was over the score 
was tied, and so it remained throughout the 
ninth inning and the tenth and the eleventh 
and the twelfth. And when that was over dark- 
ness had descended and eighteen very tired play- 
ers heard with relief the umpire call the game. 
And several hundred spectators, rather stiff and 
chilly and hungry, went disappointedly home to 
supper. 

“I knew mighty well,” declared Fudge as he and 
Perry made their way through the twilight, “that 
we could never win with that line-up! You heard 
me tell Harry so, too, didn’t you?” 

161 


THE PURPLE PENNANT 

And Perry, being a good chum, assented. 

The next day it rained. Not enough, as Fudge 
bitterly reflected, to keep a fellow from going to 
church, but sufficiently to make sojourning out of 
doors in the afternoon a very wet and unpleasant 
business. It drizzled, but the drizzle was much 
more of a rain than a mist, and when, about three 
o’clock, Fudge went across town to Perry’s house 
he arrived in a fairly damp condition. Being damp 
affected Fudge’s naturally sunny disposition. It 
didn’t make him cross, but it gave him an injured 
and slightly pathetic expression and tinged his ut- 
terances with gloom and pessimism. He wasn’t a 
very cheerful companion to-day, and Perry, who 
had been having a rather comfortable and cozy 
time curled up on the black horse-hair lounge in 
the Doctor’s reception-room — also used as a parlor 
on extraordinary occasions — with a volume of Du 
Chaillu’s travels which he had happened on in the 
book-case, almost wished that his friend had stayed 
at home. They went up to Perry’s, room and sat 
by the open window and watched the drizzle and 
talked desultorily of track and field work and yes- 
terday’s game and of many other things. The af- 
fair of the “train-robber” was, it seemed by mutual 
agreement, avoided ; it was not a day to inspire one 
to detecting. The “train-robber’s” window was 
162 


THE GAME WITH NORRISVILLE 

open across the back yard, but no one appeared at 
it. Fudge had drawn the conversation back to 
shot-putting and was indulging in a few well-chosen 
disparaging remarks with regard to the overbearing 
manner of Harry Partridge when sounds came to 
them. Of course sounds had been coming to them 
for half an hour; the patter of rain, the quiet foot- 
falls of Mrs. Hull below-stairs, the whistle of the 
three-twenty- two train crossing the bridge and such 
ordinary noises; but this was new and different. 
Perry drew Fudge’s attention to it and then listened 
puzzledly. At first it seemed to come from around 
the comer of the house, but presently they located 
it in the room occupied by the “train-robber.” They 
crowded their heads through the window and 
strained their ears. 

“What’s he doing?” demanded Fudge in a hoarse 
whisper after a minute or two. 

“I think” — Perry hesitated — “I think he’s sing- 
ing!” 

“Singing!” 

“Yes; listen!” They listened. Perry was right. 
The sounds that issued from the window were un- 
doubtedly those of a man’s voice raised in song. 
What the words of the song were they couldn’t make 
out, but the tune, if it deserved the name, was 
peculiarly slow and doleful. 

163 


THE PURPLE PENNANT 


“Jimnriny, lie must be feeling bad!" muttered 
Fudge. 

“Sounds like a — a dirge, doesn’t it?” 

“Awful!” They tried hard to hear what it was 
all about, but as the singer was evidently well back 
from the window and as the window was some little 
distance away, they failed. Finally they drew their 
heads in, being by that time somewhat wet, and 
viewed each other inquiringly. Then, without a 
word, Fudge lifted his cap from the table, Perry, 
equally silent, moved toward the door and the two 
quietly descended the staircase. Perry got his 
cap from the tree in the front hall and they slipped 
through the front door, across the porch and into 
the drizzle. 

Two minutes later they were climbing the stairs 
in the brick building on G Street, looking very 
much like the desperate conspirators they felt them- 
selves to be. A pleasant odor from the bakery on 
the first floor pursued them as they noiselessly 
ascended the staircase and crept along the first hall. 
The building was silent and apparently deserted un- 
til, half-way up the second flight, from behind the 
closed door and transom of Number 7, came the 
muffled tones of a deep bass voice in monotonous, 
wailing cadence. The boys paused at the head of 
the stairs and listened. Words came to them, but 
164 


THE GAME WITH NOIIRISVILLE 


only occasionally. They tip-toed nearer. That wan 
better. They could hear fairly well now. 

*‘1 wash in a pool and wipe on a sack, 

And carry my wardrobe right on my back. 

For want of a stove I cook bread in a pot, 

And sleep on the ground for want of a cot." 

As the voices of the Sirens lured Ulysses of old, 
so the doleful strains lured Perry and Fudge nearer 
and nearer. 

"My ceiling’s the sky and my carpet’s the grass, 

My music’s the lowing of herds as they pass. 

My books arc the streams and my Bible’s a stone, 
My preacher’s a wolf on a pulpit of bones." 

By now the two boys were standing on either side 
of the door, listening raptly. 

"The preacher he says from his pulpit of bones 

That the Lord favors those who look out for their own. 

My friends often hint " 

The wails ceased. A moment’s silence ensued. 
Then the door was suddenly opened, and : 

“Come right in, pardners,” said a voice. “Every- 
thing’s free!” 


CHAPTER XV 


THE WHITE SCAR 

T HEY were two very startled youths who 
leaped back as the door unexpectedly opened 
and who, for a breathless instant, gazed 
speechlessly at the man con fronting ’them. He was 
tall, wide-shouldered and narrow-hipped, with a 
frank, good-looking face, clean-shaven, on which 
at the moment a quizzical smile rested. He had laid 
aside coat and vest, and under the uprolled sleeves 
of his white shirt his long arms showed muscles 
like whip-cords. It was Fudge who found his 
voice first. 

“I — I — W-w-we ” 

“No savvy, hombre. Start again.” 

“W-we were j-j-just list-list-list ” 

“Listening,” said Perry helpfully. 

“Well, I hope you liked it. Come on in. We’re 
all friends together.” 

“No, thanks,” said Perry, embarrassed. “We 

just happened to hear you singing ” 

166 


THE WHITE SCAR 

“Hooray!” exclaimed the man. “That's sure 
fine ! Shake, pardner !” 

And Perry found himself shaking hands most 
enthusiastically with the strange person and, at the 
same time, being drawn through the doorway. He 
tried to hold back, but it was utterly useless. Fudge, 
his startled expression vastly increased, followed 
doubtfully and the man closed the door. He was 
smiling broadly. 

“Sit down, boys, and tell me your sweet, sad 
tale. You sure have made a big hit with me, 
all right. No one ever called that noise of mine 
singing before. Yes, sir, muchachos, you’ve won 
me!” 

“I — we thought it was very” — Perry searched 
for a word — “very nice singing.” 

“P-P-Peachy,” supplemented Fudge, smiling in- 
gratiatingly, and then casting a troubled look at 
the closed door. To be shut in like this at the 
mercy of a train-robber had not been within his 
calculations. To increase his uneasiness. Fudge 
noted that his host’s ^yes were blue, light grayish- 
blue, but still to all intents and purposes blue ! He 
looked meaningly at Perry, wondering whether, if 
they started together, they could reach the door be- 
fore they were intercepted. The man had made 
them take two of the three chairs and perched him- 
167 


THE PURPLE PENNANT 
self on a corner of the table in the middle of the 
room. 

“I hope I didn’t scare you when I pulled the door 
open,” he said. “Wouldn’t want to do that, you 
know. Too flattered at having an audience.” 

“No, sir, we weren’t scared,” Perry assured him 
not too truthfully. “We oughtn’t have done it, but 
— we heard you and ” 

“Just couldn’t resist it, eh? Was it the words 
or the tune that hypnotized you?” He regarded 
Perry very gravely indeed, but there was a twinkle 
in his blue eyes. 

Perry smiled weakly, 

“I — I guess it was the words,” he said. 

“I’ll bet it was! That’s a nice song. I’ll teach 
it to you some time if you like. Haven’t I seen 
you boys around town?” 

Perry nodded, casting a quick glance at Fudge. 
Fudge, however, had his gaze set longingly on the 
door. 

“I thought so. I’ve got a good memory for faces. 
Pretty good ears, too.” He laughed. “I suppose 
you fellows thought you weren’t making a sound out 
there ? Well, I heard you when you first came along 
the hall. Live around here, do you ?” 

“I do,” answered Perry. “He doesn’t.” 

“Well, let’s tell our names. Mine’s Addicks.” 

1 68 


THE WHITE SCAR 

“My name is Hull and his is Shaw. My first 
name is Perry.” 

“Perry Hull, eh? Sounds like something out of 
a history of the American Navy. Any relation to 
the celebrated commodores ?” 

“No, sir, I don’t think so.” 

“What’s his name to his friends?” asked the 
host, nodding toward Fudge. 

“Fud — that is, William.” 

“My first name’s Myron. I don’t know why they 
called me that, but they did. Doesn’t he ever talk ?” 
Again Mr. Addicks indicated the absorbed Fudge. 

“I was j-j-just thinking,” replied the latter. 

“Oh! What were you thinking?” 

Fudge regarded the questioner doubtfully. “Lots 
of things,” he muttered darkly. 

Mr. Addicks laughed. “Sounds interesting, the 
jvay you tell it ! I dare say you chaps go to school?” 

“Yes, sir, High School,” replied Perry. “We’re 
both juniors.” 

“Good leather! Go in for sports, do you? Foot- 
ball, baseball, those things?” 

“A little. Fudge plays baseball and football some. 
I play football, too.” 

“So his name is Fudge, is it? William Fudge 
Shaw, I suppose.” 

“It’s just a nickname,” explained Perry. 

169 


THE PURPLE PENNANT 

“ I savvy. William week-days and Fudge Sun- 
day, eh?” Perry smiled politely at the joke, but 
Fudge’s expression remained serious and distrust- 
ful. “I’d like to see you fellows play some time,” 
continued their host. “I used to play football at 
college, but I never tried baseball. Didn’t have 
time. Sprinting and hurdling were my stunts. Do 
you have a track team at your school ?” 

“Yes, sir,” answered Perry eagerly, “and he and 
I are trying for it this year. Fudge is learning to 
put the shot and throw the hammer and I’m trying 
the sprints.” 

“You don’t say? How old are you, Hull?” 

“Fifteen.” 

“You look older. What’s your time for the hun- 
dred?” 

“I — I don’t know yet. Skeet — he’s our coach — 
gave me a trial the other day, but he wouldn’t tell 
me what my time was.” 

Mr. Addicks nodded. “I see. What’s the school 
record ?” 

Perry didn’t know, but Fudge supplied the in- 
formation. “It’s ten and a fifth. Lanny White did 
it last year against Springdale.” 

“That’s good work! I’d like to see that chap 
run. I suppose you have your work-outs in the 
afternoons, don’t you? If I didn’t have to — if I 
170 


THE WHITE SCAR 

wasn’t so busy I’d come out and look you over. My 
record was ten flat for the hundred when I was 
in college, and fifteen and two-fifths over the high 
hurdles. I never could do much at the two-twenty 
distance, sprint or hurdles. I did do the low hurdles 
once in twenty-six flat, but that was in practice.” 

“What college did you go to ?” asked Fudge, for- 
getting his suspicion for the moment. 

“Morgan,” answered the man, and smiled at 
their perplexity. “It’s in Nebraska. Ever hear 
of it?” 

They shook their heads, looking apologetic. 

“I suppose not. It’s a long ride from here. Good 
little college, though. I spent a right comfortable 
three years there.” 

“Does it take but three years to get through 
there?” asked Fudge. “I’d like to go there myself, 
I guess.” 

“No, but I was in a hurry, so I finished up in 
three. Had to get out and hustle me a living, you 
see. Not but what I wasn’t doing that after a 
fashion all the time.” He paused and chuckled 
deeply. “Ran a livery stable.” 

“A livery stable! While you were in college?” 
asked Fudge. 

“You said it, hombre. Had to do something. 
Didn’t have much of anything but what I had on 
171 


THE PURPLE PENNANT 

when I struck college. Paid them a half-year’s 
tuition — education’s cheap out that way, friends, 
and it’s good, too — and le ked around for some- 
thing to work at. Didn’t find anything at first and 
so one day I go down to a stable run by a poor 
thing name of Cheeny and hires me a bronch for 
a couple of hours. I can always think a heap 
better when I’m on a horse, it seems. Well, think- 
ing doesn’t do me much good this time, though, and 
I heads back to town telling myself the best thing 
I can do is roll my blanket and hit the trail. But 
when I gets back to the stable, which isn’t much 
more than a shed and a corral built of railway ties 
set on end, this poor thing name of Cheeny says 
to me: ‘Know anyone wants to buy a nice livery 
business?’ ‘Supposing I did?’ says I, squinting 
around the shack. ‘Why, here it is,’ he says. Well, 
to come right down to brass tacks, he and I did 
business after a day or two. He wanted to hike 
back to Missouri, which he ought never to have left, 
and we made a dicker. I was to pay him so much 
a month till we were square. Course I knew that, 
as he’d been running the place, he wasn’t mak- 
ing enough to pay his feed bill, but I had a notion 
I could do a bit better. Did, too. What I bought 
wasn’t much — half a dozen carriages about ready 
to fall to pieces, five bronchos and a little grain and 
172 


THE WHITE SCAR 

alfalfa. The bronchs weren’t so bad, if you excuse 
their looks. What they needed mostly was food. 
Trouble was, though, c^at everyone out there who 
needed a horse had one, and I saw that if I was to 
make anything on that investment I’d have to make 
my own market. Which I did.” 

“How did you do it?” asked Perry eagerly. 

“Introduced the wholesome recreation of rid- 
ing. Used to take a string of bronchs up to col- 
lege in the afternoon and stand ’em outside the 
Hall. Then when anyone came along I’d ask him if 
he didn’t want to hire a horse for two bits an hour. 
At first I just got laughed at. Then one or two 
fellows tried it for a lark, and after that it went 
line. I gave riding lessons to some of the girls — 
Morgan is co-ed, you know — and the next year I 
had to buy me more horses. Paid that poor thing 
name of Cheeny in full before I’d been there six 
months. When I left I sold out to a man from 
Lincoln and did right well. Now you talk.” 

“Wh-what did you do next?” asked Fudge in- 
terestedly. 

“Went down to Texas and got a job with a firm 
of engineers who were running a new railway 
down to the Gulf. I’d taken a course of civil en- 
gineering. Met up with a slick customer who looked 
like a down-east preacher and went shares with him 
173 


THE PURPLE PENNANT 
on some oil land. Still got it. Something happened 
to the railway about that time and they stopped 
work. That left me strapped .and I hired out as a 
ranch hand. After that I went to punching down 
near Las Topas.” 

“Punching?” queried Fudge. 

“Cows.” 

“You mean you were a cowboy?” asked Perry 
eagerly. 

“Four years of it.” 

“Gee!” sighed Perry. “That must have been 
great !” 

Mr. Addicks laughed. “Well, some of it wasn’t 
so bad. I liked it pretty well. I was always crazy 
about horses and riding. I got enough of it, though. 
It don’t get you anything. An uncle of mine died 
and a lawyer wrote me I was the old chap’s heir and 
had better beat it back here and claim the estate. 
Which I did.” He smiled wryly. “The estate was 
a tumble-down farm-house about three miles from 
here on the Springdale road with a mortgage all 
over it. There’s so much mortgage you have to 
lift up a corner of it before you can see the house. 
Being still a trifle worse than broke, I got a job 
with a moving picture company in Jersey and rode 
for ’em almost a year. That was harder work than 
being the real thing, and a sight more dangerous. I 
174 


THE WHITE SCAR 

nearly killed myself one day, when a horse fell 
on me, and so I got my time and quit being an actor. 
That was about a month ago. Then I came back 
here and rented this place and started in business. 
The business hasn’t shown up yet, though. I guess 
being a civil engineer in Clearfield is about as busy 
a job as being a street-cleaner in Venice! Now 
you know all about me. Hope I haven’t tired you 
out.” 

“No, indeed,” replied Perry emphatically. “I 
like to hear about it. Say, you’ve been around a 
lot, haven’t you? Were you born in Nebraska?” 

“Me? Hombre, I’m a native son of this grand 
old state. My folks farmed it over near Petersboro 
before the Pilgrims bought their passage !” 

“How did you happen to go to college away out 
there, sir?” 

“Why — now, look here, I’ve talked enough. I’ll 
tell you some day about that, if you say so, but if 
I don’t quit now you’ll think I’m wound up. You 
tell me things.” 

“What?” asked Perry, smiling. 

“Well, what are you aiming to do when you get 
through cramming your head full of knowledge, 
friend?” 

“I don’t know. I used to think I’d be a doctor. 
That’s what my father is. But lately — I don’t know. 
175 


THE PURPLE PENNANT 
There doesn’t seem to be much money in doctor- 
ing” 

“Be a civil engineer then and get rich,” said Mr. 
Addicks gravely. “What’s your line going to be, 
Shaw?” 

“I’m going to be an author,” answered Fudge 
earnestly. 

“That’s another of those well-paid professions. 
Guess what we’d better do is make a date to meet 
in the poor house in, say, twenty or thirty years !” 

“Some authors make a lot of money,” said Fudge. 

“Do they ? Maybe so. The only one I ever knew 
who had money in his pocket was a chap out in 
Laredo. Don’t know as you’d call him an author 
exactly either; more of a poet. He traveled around 
on side-door Pullmans and sold poems at the houses. 
Said he was ‘singing his way around the world.’ 
Told me he sometimes got as much as fifty cents 
for a poem. Yes, he was what you might call a 
right successful author; one of those ‘best-sellers’ 
you hear about, I guess.” 

“What were the poems like?” asked Fudge. 

“Well, I don’t believe, between you and me and 
the shovel, he had more than the one, and that — 
let me see if I can remember it. How was it now? 

‘My name is ’ I used to know that song, too. 

Wait a minute. I’ve got it! 

176 


THE WHITE SCAR 

“ ‘My name is James O’Reilly, 

I come from Erin’s sod 
To sing my humble ballads 
As round the world I plod. 

I ask no gift from any man, 

I pay my way with song. 

The world is kind, and so I find 
Each day I trudge along.’ ” 

“I wouldn’t call that real poetry,” said Fudge 
critically. 

“No more did he ; he called it a song. Anyhow, 
it brought him money. If someone doesn’t happen 
in pretty quick and give me a job of surveying I’m 
going to steal that song and see what I can do with 
it! I suppose, now, you fellows don’t want any 
surveying done? My prices are cheap. This is 
bargain week.” 

“I’m afraid not,” answered Fudge. “I guess 
there isn’t much ” 

He suddenly stopped, mouth open, eyes round 
and glassy, and stared at his host. 

“What’s the matter ?” asked Mr. Addicks, follow- 
ing Fudge’s fascinated gaze. “Anything wrong with 
my hand ?” 

Fudge seemed to shake himself out of his daze. 
“N-n-n-no, sir!” he gulped. “Oh, n-n-no, sir! I 
j-j-just hap-hap-happened to th-th- think of some- 
something !” 


177 


THE PURPLE PENNANT 

Mr. Addicks laughed dryly. “ You're a remark- 
able young thinker, Shaw. I thought, by the way 
you were looking at my hand, that maybe I needed 
a manicure. Hello, going?” 

“Yes, sir, I guess we’d better be getting home,” 
said Perry. “We’ve enjoyed your — our visit.” 

“Have you? Well, I have, anyway. I was just 
naturally bored to death when you came. When 
you hear me trying to sing you’ll know it’s because 
I’m bored. Drop in again soon, fellows. I’m usu- 
ally in in the mornings. Come around and I’ll 
teach you that song.” He chuckled as he opened 
the door for them. “I know some others too. ‘Sam 
Bass/ for instance. I know thirty-four verses of 
‘Sam Bass/ and that’s three more than any other 
chap at the ‘Lazy K’ knew !” 

It was not until they were in the street that either 
of the boys spoke. Then Perry asked wonderingly : 
“For the love of mud, Fudge, what was the matter 
with you? You looked like a dying fish!” 

“D-d-d-didn’t you see?” asked Fudge tensely. 

“See what?” 

“The wh-wh-wh-white s-s-scar !” 

“What white scar? Where?” 

“On his arm!” replied Fudge, hoarsely, triumph- 
antly. “The 1-1-left one!” 


CHAPTER XVI 


SEARS MAKES A SUGGESTION 

T HAT Sunday evening there was an informal 
meeting at Guy Felker’s house in the in- 
terests of the Track Team. Guy had asked 
a half-dozen fellows to come and talk over affairs, 
and Lanny, Harry Partridge, Arthur Beaton and 
Toby Sears had responded. Orson Kirke had ex- 
cused himself by telephone and Jack Toll had sim- 
ply failed to appear. Toby Sears was Senior Class 
President, the School's best broad- jumper and a 
fair quarter-miler. Sears was eighteen and a rather 
earnest chap on whose judgment the school always 
placed the utmost reliance. It was Sears who was 
talking now. 

“What Guy has said is just about so. There 
isn't now and never has been enough interest in 
track and field athletics with us. Every year it's 
been increasingly difficult to get fellows to come 
out for the team. Considering the lack of ma- 
terial we’ve had to contend with, I think we’ve done 
179 


THE PURPLE PENNANT 
very well. But this spring a lot of us have been 
hoping that things would be easier for the captain 
and the coach, for we want to make this year’s vic- 
tory over Springdale decisive. But, as Guy has told 
us, as things stand now the team is very one-sided. 
That is, we’ve got a lot of candidates for the field 
events and mighty few for the track. And here it 
is the first of May and the Springdale meet is little 
over a month off. Even if we found fellows now to 
come out and work for track positions there is 
scarcely time to develop them. And, for my part, I 
doubt that we can get any. Guy made a pretty good 
canvass of the school last month and I think he’s got 
hold of about all the talent there is. Seems to me, 
then, that the only thing to do is for us fellows to 
see if we can’t come to the rescue and round out 
the team better. I’ve never run a half-mile in com- 
petition and don’t know what I could do, but I’m 
willing to try. That would give me three events 
but if they didn’t come too close together I guess 
I could manage them. And it seems to me that 
there are others who could attempt more than they 
are attempting now. How about you, Harry? 
You’re down for the shot and hammer, aren’t you?” 

“Yes, but I’ll try anything once, Toby. The 
trouble is that I don’t think I’m good for anything 
else, and a month is short time to learn new tricks.” 

180 


SEARS MAKES A SUGGESTION 

“Well, you know what you can do and can’t do. 
Still, I think that some others of us could double 
up, so to speak. We haven’t but one miler on the 
team, as you know. Smith is doing his best, but 
unless he travels faster than he did last year he 
won’t get a point. Springdale, from what I can 
learn, is especially strong this year at the mile, 
half and quarter and we’ve got to get some seconds 
and thirds in those events to have a chance at win- 
ning. Presser is willing to do all he possibly can, 
but he can’t turn out runners if he isn’t given ma- 
terial to work on. So, as I’ve said, it seems to me 
it would be a good plan to induce some of the fel- 
lows who are trying for field events to go in for 
track work. I don’t suppose it’s possible to take, 
say, a chap who has never done anything but jump- 
ing and make a good half-miler of him in a month, 
but if we can make him good enough to capture a 
third we’re helping our chances.” 

“I think that’s a splendid idea,” said Captain 
Felker. “Of course, there are some of us who 
couldn’t take up more than we are taking. I, for 
one. I’d be willing enough, but you simply can’t 
run sprints or distances and do yourself justice at 
the pole-vault. Besides that, the arrangement of 
events interferes. But I do think there are fellows 
on the team who will be willing to enter two or, in 
181 


THE PURPLE PENNANT 
some cases, even three events. I wish we could get 
up some enthusiasm for the mile and the half- 
mile. Fellows seem to hold off from those events 
as if they were poison. I dare say they think they’re 
harder work. In a way they are, or, at least, they 
require a more sustained effort than the sprints 
and hurdles. And speaking of hurdles, we need 
a bigger field there. Lanny’s got all he can manage 
with the sprints, although he intends to try the high 
hurdles too. The only fellow we have in sight now 
for the low sticks is Arthur here. We ought to 
have four men for every event on the program, and 
that’s the truth of it.” 

“I’m willing to try the sprints if you think it 
will do any good,” said Arthur Beaton. “I might 
push some Springdale fellow out in the trials, any- 
way.” 

“I’d suggest,” said Partridge, “that Guy and 
Skeet get together and go over the list and see what 
can be done in the way you suggest, Toby. As 
I said before, I’ll try anything anyone wants me 
to. Anything, that is, except the pole-vault. I 
don’t want to break my neck !” 

“There are about ten fellows trying for the 
sprints,” said Lanny. “We don’t need more than 
half of them. Why can’t some of them be turned 
into hurdlers, Guy? Any fellow who can do the 
182 


SEARS MAKES A SUGGESTION 

hundred on the flat can do it over the sticks if he’s 
once shown how.” 

“Sure he can,” agreed Harry. “Call a meeting 
of the candidates, Guy, and tell each one what’s 
expected of him. Don’t just say, ‘Will you do this?’ 
but tell ’em they’ve got to! Get Toby to talk to 
’em and put some pep in ’em. Make ’em understand 
that we’ve got to lick Springdale next month and 
that ” 

“The trouble is,” interrupted Lanny, “that the 
fellows don’t take track athletics seriously. It’s got 
to be sort of the style to smile when you mention 
the subject. We’ve run so to football and baseball 
that we don’t think anything else is worth while. 
Even the fellows Who are on the team go around 
with a half-apologetic grin, as much as to say, ‘I’m 
on the Track Team. Isn’t it a joke?’ What ought 
to be done in this school is to get track athletics 
back where they belong as a major sport.” 

“And the best way to do that,” said Sears, “is 
to everlastingly wallop Springdale.” 

“Yes, but ” 

“I think there ought to be more incentive for 
fellows to come out for the team,” said Harry 
Partridge. “Of course, if a chap is fond of running 
or jumping or hurdling he’s going to do it without 
persuasion, but there are lots of fellows, I guess, 
183 


THE PURPLE PENNANT 
who have the making of good track or field men 
who don’t realize it and don’t think about it. Of 
course, it’s too late this year, but next ” 

“Well, it’s this year that’s worrying me,” broke 
in Guy. “Whoever comes after me can bother 
about next year.” 

“Still,” said Sears earnestly, “we’ve got to work 
for the future as well as the present; or we should 
anyway. I’ve sometimes wondered if we couldn’t 
enlarge the interest by holding a meet about the 
middle of the season, a handicap meet between 
classes. Once get a fellow interested and if he has 
anything in him he wants to get it out. And so 
he keeps on.” 

“That’s a good scheme,” agreed Guy. “Funny 
we’ve never thought of it. But it’s too late for this 
spring. What we might do, though, is to hold an 
open meet and work up some enthusiasm that way. 
It would be a good thing, anyway, for the team.” 

“Couldn’t we get a meet with some other 
school?” asked the manager. “Highland Hall or 
someone.” 

“Guy’s scheme would answer the same purpose,” 
said Sears. “We could talk it up, get the candi- 
dates themselves interested in it and get the school 
interested, too. It might show us some material 
we didn’t know of. Some fellows will do stunts 
184 


SEARS MAKES A SUGGESTION 

in competition that they wouldn’t think of in 
practice.’' 

“Ought to be prizes, I suppose,” said Lanny. 
“How abdut it?” 

“Ought to be, yes,” agreed Guy; “but where’d 
we get them? There isn’t enough money to fix 
the track up decently.” 

“Instead of individual prizes for each event,” 
offered Manager Beaton, “we might have a single 
prize for the best performance, or something like 
that.” 

That was discussed and eventually abandoned. 
As Guy pointed out, it would be a mighty difficult 
matter to decide which was the best performance 
and the awarding of the prize might lead to a lot 
of dissatisfaction amongst the less fortunate con- 
tenders. “We don’t need prizes,” he said. “We’ll 
publish the names of the winners and that will 
be enough.” 

“Arthur’s idea might be used, though,” said 
Sears thoughtfully, “in the Springdale meet. How 
would it do to have some sort of a trophy to go 
to the fellow winning the most points for us?” 

“What sort of a trophy?” asked Lanny. 

“Well, nothing expensive, of course. It would 
be something to work for, and just now, when we 
want to induce fellows to take up new stuff, it 

185 


THE PURPLE PENNANT 


mightn’t be a bad idea to give them something — 
er — tangible to go after. Maybe just a pewter mug 
would do.” 

“Suppose two or three fellows scored the same 
number of points?” asked Arthur. “That might 
easily happen, mightn’t it?” 

“Yes, I^suppose it might.” Sears considered. 
“Then let each have possession of the mug for a 
certain time.” 

“Oh, your idea is to have the thing competed for 
each year ?’ 

“Yes, don’t you think so?” 

“Tell you what,” said Lanny. “Get some of the 
girls to make a stunning purple banner — no, pen- 
nant — and give it to the fellow who does the best 
work for us, as Toby suggests. In case two or 
more win the same number of points, take into 
consideration the fellows’ performances. If two 
chaps each won, say, eight points for us, the one 
who made the better record for his event would 
get the flag. And then let him keep it and we’ if 
find a new one for next year. Call it the Track 
Trophy and have it understood that, next to the 
Victoria Cross, it’s the biggest honor you can 
win!” 

“That’s all right,” assented Harry Partridge, 
“but it strikes me that a silver or even a pewter 
18 6 


SEARS MAKES A SUGGESTION 


mug would make more of a hit than a pennant.” 

“I don’t think so,” responded Lanny. “Besides,” 
he added, with a smile, “that mug would cost us 
money, and the pennant won’t!” The others 
laughed. 

“Still,” said Arthur Beaton, “a few of us might 
dig down for it. You can get a pretty good- 
looking mug for three dollars.” 

“Speak for yourself, old scout,” protested Guy. 
“I’m poorer than the Athletic Committee, and that’s 
pretty poor! Let’s make it a pennant. It doesn’t 
matter what it is, really, so long as it is under- 
stood that the thing’s worth winning. It could 
be made of silk and have a suitable inscription on 

' it, like ‘For Valor’ No, that wouldn’t do. 

‘For Worth?’ ‘For ’” 

“For Instance,” laughed Lanny. “Never mind 
an inscription. Just have ‘C. H. S.’ on it.” 

“With a winged foot,” suggested Arthur. 

“Then if I won it throwing the hammer,” said 
Harry Partridge, “it wouldn’t be what you’d call 
appropriate, would it?” 

“In a general way ” began Arthur. 

“I’ve got it,” interrupted Lanny. “A purple silk 
pennant with a green laurel wreath inclosing the 
letters ‘C. H. S.’ in white. How’s that?” 

“Sounds mighty good-looking,” replied Sears, 
187 


THE PURPLE PENNANT 

and the rest agreed. Guy Felker, however, was a 
trifle impatient of the subject. 

“We can find a design easy enough later,” he 
said. “The question is whether it's worth doing.” 

“It certainly is,” asserted Sears, and the others 
agreed. 

“Anything that will convince the fellows that 
it's worth while trying to do all they can for the 
team, is worth doing,” said Lanny decidedly. “Re- 
member, Guy, that you and Skeet have got to per- 
suade chaps to go in for stunts they’ve never tried, 
in many cases.” 

“But won’t it look,” asked Arthur, “as if we were 
offering this pennant just to — to ” 

“I get your idea,” said Lanny. “How would it 
do if we kept out of it and let the girls offer it? 
We might suggest it to them and let them do the 
whole thing. Louise Brent would be a good one 
to start it up.” 

“That’s better,” said Guy. “We’ll keep out of 
it entirely. Suppose you attend to the — the nego- 
tiations, Lanny. You’re a popular chap with the 
ladies !” 

“Let Toby do it,” Lanny replied. 

“It is moved and seconded that Lanny be ap- 
pointed a committee of one to negotiate with Louise 
Brent in the matter of a purple silk pennant. All 
1 88 


SEARS MAKES A SUGGESTION 

those in favor will so signify by raising their right 
hands. One, two, three, four. It is a vote, gen- 
tlemen.” Toby bowed gravely to Lanny. 

“All right,” laughed the latter. “It's all up 
when Toby’s in the chair, anyway! Any other 
business before the meeting, Guy?” 

“No, I guess not. We’ll see what can be done 
with persuading the fellows to try new stunts. 
Maybe it’ll work out fine. I hope so. Much 
obliged for coming around, anyhow. I was get- 
ting a bit discouraged, to tell the honest truth. 
Skeet’s been growling for days and wanting to 
know how I expected him to make a team out of 
nothing. And the trouble was I couldn’t tell him! 
You fellows needn’t run off so early, though.” 

“I’m going home and pile into bed,” replied 
Lanny gravely. “From now on I shall take the 
very best care of myself because, you see, I mean 
to get that purple pennant.” 

“You?” jeered Harry Partridge. “You haven’t 
the ghost of a show, you old tow-head ! I only have 
to close my eyes to see that thing hanging over 
my mantel!” 

“Huh! Open ’em again and wake up! Good- 
night, all I” 


CHAPTER XVII 


THE SQUAD AT WORK 

O N Monday work for the Track Team en- 
trants was no different than usual. Perry, 
one of a bunch of seven or eight sprinters, 
practiced starts, did two fifty-yard dashes and fi- 
nally swung through the two hundred and twenty. 
There were no trails, nor were any of the number 
allowed to go faster than a “hustle/’ which was 
Skeet’s term for a pace that was something like 
a glorified jog. Lanny, who was now giving three 
afternoons each week to track work, spent much 
of his time coaching the rest, and to him Perry 
owed his first real understanding of what might 
be called the philosophy of the crouching start. 
Lanny, watching Perry and two others at the mark, 
stopped proceedings. 

“Just a minute, you fellows,” he said. “Now, 
look here. You, Hull, and you, Soper, have got 
your holes placed wrong. Your front hole, Hull, 
is too far from the mark for you. You’re losing 
190 


THE SQUAD AT WORK 

distance every time. Put that front hole so that 
your instep will come opposite your right knee when 
you're down, and dig your hole deeper, man; that 
scratch in the ground doesn’t give you any pur- 
chase. That’s the ticket, dig it out. Now then, 
try that. Better? Hold on, though; you’re strad- 
dled too much. The idea is that when you get 
away your rear foot will travel straight forward. 
Your back hole is too far to the right. Put it about 
here and see how it goes. That’s the trouble with 
you, too, Soper. Your back hole is too far back 
and too wide of the line through your body.” 

The two boys followed instructions and presently 
tried another start. When they had run through 
their dozen or fifteen yards and walked back, Lanny 
began again. 

“As near as I can tell, fellows,” he said, “neither 
of you really understand why you’re doing this. 
You appear to have the idea that when you start 
off you have to throw your body forward. The 
result is that you both go off with a jump and 
you don’t get your stride until you’re eight or ten 
yards away. Watch me a minute, please. You 
fellows, too; you’re none of you getting off well. 
Now, then, fingers back of the mark, spread enough 
to carry your weight easily, but not tense; there 
ought to be a little spring to them as they lift. 

191 


THE PURPLE PENNANTj 

Now in setting your weight goes forward on your 
fingers and the ball of your left foot. Don’t try 
to put your body over the line ; only the head and 
shoulders. Now, when the pistol goes off, don’t 
give a jump as though you were going to play leap- 
frog all the way down to the tape. Let yourself 
fall forward naturally, as you’re bound to when you 
lift your hands, and then run. That’s the whole 
idea of that start. You’re falling forward and you 
run to keep from going on your face. Bring your 
rear foot forward on a straight line, raise your 
body slowly — don’t jerk your shoulders up — and 
get your stride in the first three or four steps at 
the most. Don’t try for long steps. Take short 
ones, at least at first until you learn to lengthen 
them without throwing yourself off. When you’re 
running the hundred yards, fellows, about fifty per 
cent, of it depends on the way you get off your 
mark. Races are won or lost right there. The 
idea is to get away quick, but get your stride at 
once. Now, then, watch me and see how I do it.” 

That, thought Perry, as his gaze followed 
Lanny’s bare legs twinkling down the path, sim- 
plified the business. No one had told him that it 
was the falling forward of his body that gave him 
speed in getting away from the mark. He had 
been, in fact, struggling against that very thing, try- 
192 


THE SQUAD AT WORK 

in g to recover his equilibrium at the earliest pos- 
sible moment and, in that effort, making his sec- 
ond step a kind of leap in the air and wrenching 
his head and shoulders backward with an awkward 
and often painful motion. The result had been 
that for at least a half-dozen strides he had been 
“running up and down.” Having once grasped the 
“why and wherefor,” Perry found that the crouch- 
ing start was the simplest thing in the world ! Not 
that he mastered it that afternoon or for many 
succeeding afternoons, but each time it came easier 
and eventually he found that he could reach his 
stride within three or four steps of the mark and 
at twenty yards be running at top speed. 

That afternoon’s work-out ended with a “hustle” 
over the two-twenty, and when, slowing up from 
that, Perry turned to seek Skeet and report, he 
caught a glimpse of Fudge, far down the field, hop- 
ping ludicrously on one foot with a shot poised in 
upstretched hand. Perry smiled sympathetically as 
the shot sped away for a scant thirty feet. Fudge, 
he feared, was not making a howling success of 
his athletic endeavors. There was a rumor of an 
impending cut in the squad and Perry wondered 
whether he and Fudge would survive it. He al- 
most dared to think that he would, for, excepting 
Lanny and Kirke and, possibly, Soper, his work 
193 


THE PURPLE PENNANT 

was as good as any so far. As for Fudge, however, 
he knew that Falkland, Partridge and Brimmer 
were all from six to eight feet better with the shot, 
and he doubted that Skeet would retain more than 
three fellows for the weight events. Having been 
released by the coach, with instructions to report 
a quarter of an hour earlier on the morrow, Perry 
sought the dressing-room, waited his turn at the 
shower, and finally dressed and went in search of 
Fudge. The shot-putters were not in sight, though, 
and, hesitating whether to remain and watch base- 
ball practice or continue his search for his chum, 
he at last left the field and made his way back along 
Common Street to where, in the vacant block be- 
hind the field, the weight candidates were practic- 
ing with the hammer. 

Partridge was in charge, and the squad consisted 
of Fudge, George Falkland and Thad Brimmer, 
while four or five spectators looked on from a safe 
distance behind the ring. Perry joined these and 
watched Harry Partridge whirl the twelve-pound 
weight and send it sailing far across the turf. None 
of them was making any great effort for dis- 
tance, however, the matter of form still being the 
consideration. Fudge followed Partridge, and 
Perry, who had never yet seen his friend essay the 
hammer-throw, was prepared to resent the snickers 
194 


THE SQUAD AT WORK 

or amused comments of the watchers beside him. 
But Fudge proved something of a revelation. Awk- 
ward with the shot he undoubtedly was, and it was 
much of a question whether he would ever learn 
to handle that object successfully, but when it came 
to throwing the hammer Fudge was another fel- 
low. His sturdy body turned with the swinging 
weight, his arms outstretched, his feet twinkling 
marvelously above the trampled ground. Then he 
stopped quickly, the whirling hammer dipped, rose 
and, released, arched off like a shot from a mortar, 
and Fudge, recovering, pulled up with a foot 
against the wooden rim. 

“Bully!” commended Partridge warmly. “That 
was all right, Fudge! And you see what I mean 
about not pulling back on the release, don’t you? 
That was mighty good form! Mighty good! Get 
your sweater on and keep moving. All right, 
George. Now see if you handle your feet better.” 

Perhaps Falkland was so busy trying to manage 
his feet correctly that he forgot the flying weight. 
At all events, at the completion of the second turn 
the ball of the hammer struck the ground, plowed 
up a foot of the soft turf and sent Falkland head 
over heels before he could let go the handle! For- 
tunately, he picked himself up unhurt, and the 
laughter of the audience brought only a sheepish 
195 


THE PURPLE PENNANT 

grin to his face. While he regained his breath 
Thad Brimmer took his turn. After that Falkland 
again tried and got the weight away without mis- 
adventure, although not to the satisfaction of Par- 
tridge. Fudge threw again and, while the result 
was not as good as that of his former performance, 
did very well. Partridge explained again, and 
again threw, and the practice was over. 

“That was a peach of a throw, Fudge,” com- 
mended Perry, as he ranged himself beside his 
friend. “I didn’t know you could do it like that !” 

“It isn’t hard,” replied Fudge carelessly, “if you 
know how.” But he managed to convey by his 
tone that it was hard and that a great deal of 
credit was deserved by one William Shaw. “I guess 
the time before the last I must have made a hun- 
dred and fifty feet easy!” 

Fudge’s estimate was somewhat too generous, but 
Perry accepted it unquestionably and accorded ad- 
miration. He waited outside while Fudge per- 
formed his ablutions and arrayed himself in his 
street attire, and then, in the wake of the baseball 
players, they made their way back to town. Fudge, 
plainly pleased with himself, had a good deal to 
say regarding the gentle art of throwing the ham- 
mer, and Perry listened .patiently until the subject 
was exhausted. Then, and by that time they 
196 


THE SQUAD AT WORK 
were leaning against Fudge’s front gate in the 
fragrant warmth of the May afternoon, Perry 
said : 

“Say, Fudge, I’ve been thinking.” 

“Uh-huh,” responded Fudge disinterestedly. 
“About Mr. Addicks.” 

“Anything new?” asked Fudge eagerly. “Have 
you seen him?” 

Perry shook his head. “No, but — but I’ve been 
thinking.” 

“You said that once,” complained Fudge. 
“Well, I don’t believe he’s so awfully bad, do 
you? He was mighty nice to us the other day. 
Fudge. Lots of folks would have kicked us down- 
stairs if they’d caught us listening outside the door 
like that. And he doesn’t — doesn’t look bad, now 
does he?” 

“N-no.” Fudge shook his head in agreement. 

“No, he doesn’t. But we know he is, and ” 

“But we don’t know what temptation he may 
have had, Fudge,” pleaded Perry. “Maybe he was 
starving or — or something. Of course, it isn’t right 
to rob even if you are starving, but — but it makes 
it less bad, doesn’t it? And, for all we know, he 
may be trying to be better and — and live it down, 
eh? See what I mean?” 

“Sure, and that may be so, too.” Fudge knit his 
197 


THE PURPLE PENNANT 
brows and looked extremely wise. “Maybe he’s 
repented/’ 

“That’s what I think,” said the other eagerly. 
“And so it seems to me we’d ought to help him 
all we can, Fudge, instead of — instead of hunting 
him down!” 

“We aren’t hunting him down,” objected Fudge. 

“We have been. If we went to the police to-day 
and told all we know, they’d grab him in a min- 
ute, wouldn’t they?” 

Fudge kicked the fence-post and hesitated. “I 
suppose so,” he replied finally. “Only, we wouldn’t 
go to the police, Perry. We’d go to the express 
company, because they offer the reward.” 

“I don’t want the reward,” declared Perry 
warmly. “And neither do you !” 

Fudge looked a little bit startled. “N-no ” 

“Taking a reward for sending him to prison 
now when he’s trying to lead a decent life and 
— and establish himself in business would be rot- 
ten ! The money wouldn’t bring anything but 
bad luck, either. No, sir, what we’ve got to do 
is stand by him and do all we can to help him, 
Fudge.” 

“Y-yes, but how can we? What can we do?” 

“Well, for one thing, maybe we could see that 
he got some work. If he’s going to stay honest, 
198 


THE SQUAD AT WORK 

he mustn’t be poor, because being poor is what 
leads folks to commit crimes, don’t you see?” 

“Playing the piano brings him money, doesn’t 
it?” 

“Not much, I guess. What we ought to do is 
to see if we can’t find someone who will give him 
some civil engineering to do. I — I’ll bet he’s a good 
civil engineer, too!” 

“So do I,” asserted Fudge. “I’ll bet he can en- 
gineer all around those fellows who did that work 
for Mr. Brent out there.” 

“That’s what a civil engineer does, isn’t it?” 
asked Perry. “I mean, lays out streets and bridges 
and — and things.” 

Fudge nodded. “And surveys things, too.” 

“Well, now, say, I was wondering whether we 
couldn’t ask Morris to ask his father to give him 
a job.” 

“Give Morris a job?” 

“No, Mr. Addicks. He’s got a lot more land out 
there that hasn’t been surveyed, I’ll bet. And if 
Morris asked him to give some of the work to Mr. 
Addicks — of course, not all of it, but some of it — 
I guess he would. He’s mighty fond of Morris.” 

Fudge considered silently. The idea struck him 
as being perfectly feasible, even brilliant, but he 
wished he had thought of it himself. After a mo- 






THE PURPLE PENNANT 

ment: ‘‘Morris isn't the one, though, to ask Mr. 
Brent,” he announced. 

“Who is?” 

“Louise.” 

“I don’t know her except to speak to, and I 
wouldn’t like to ask her. You could, though, 
couldn’t you?” 

“Mm, maybe. I’ve got a better scheme than 
that, though, Perry. You listen. You know, Dick 
and Louise are great friends, and if we went to 
Dick and told him about Mr. Addicks and asked 
him to ask her to ask her father ” 

“Yes, but I don’t think we ought to tell any- 
one, even Dick Lovering, about Mr. Addicks.” 

“We don’t need to tell him that part of it. We’ll 
just say that he’s a — a tip-top fellow, which he is, 
and that he’s just come here and needs work like 
anything; that he has to live in one room and 
maybe doesn’t have enough to eat, and how he 
worked his way through college running a livery 
stable, and lost his money in oil or something, and 
all that. Dick’s just the fellow to help anyone 
like that. He — he just loves to help folks!” 

“Well, if we could do it that way, without let- 
ting out about Mr. Addicks being a train-robber, 
it would be fine,” replied Perry heartily. “Shall 
we, Fudge?” 


200 


THE SQUAD AT WORK 

“Uh-huh, we’ll go around to-night and see Dick. 
I’ll just bet you anything that Mr. Brent could 
give him a lot of things to do if he wanted to. 
And I’ll bet Mr. Addicks is the fellow to do them, 
too!” 

“Yes, there’s something about him that makes 
you know he’s smart,” confirmed Perry enthusi- 
astically. “It would be dandy if we could help him 
— help him ” 

“Get on his feet again,” supplied Fudge, whose 
literary efforts had provided him with a fine col- 
lection of phrases. “Yes, sir, and it’s great we 
thought of doing it, Perry.” 

Perry was too pleased to challenge his friend’s 
use of the word “we,” and in a few minutes they 
had parted, having agreed to meet at half-past seven 
at the corner of Troutman and E Streets and put 
the case before Dick Lovering. 


CHAPTER XVIII 


THE OFFICER AT THE DOOR 

D ICK was just leaving the house when the 
boys arrived there that evening, and Eli 
Yale was awaiting him at the curb, but he 
instantly offered to return. Since the even- 
ing had turned cool, they went inside, seat- 
ing themselves in the little room to the right 
that was at once parlor, living-room, library and 
Dick’s study. 

It was a comfortable, homelike little room, with 
a big table by the front windows whereat Dick 
studied and conducted his affairs, a smaller one, 
in the center of the warmly-hued carpet, flanked 
by two easy chairs, — one of which, a deeply tufted 
leather affair, was Dick’s especial property, — a 
couch covered with a gaily colored Afghan robe, 
two book-cases, an old-fashioned foot-rest, more 
chairs and, curled up on one of them, a fluffy 
smoke-gray cat. Between the book-shelves was a 
fireplace and on the marble ledge above, a brass- 
202 


THE OFFICER AT THE DOOR 

dialed, ebony-cased clock ticked with dignified de- 
liberation, keeping perfect time with the purring of 
Lady Gray. On the big table a green-shaded stu- 
dent lamp threw a pleasant light over the neat piles 
of books and papers. There was little that was 
either new or expensive in the room, but every- 
thing, from the oldest side-chair to the few pic- 
tures on the walls, proclaimed friendliness and 
comfort. 

Fudge was the spokesman, and he managed to 
tell his story with commendable brevity, although 
he could not help embroidering it with a few harm- 
less frills. Dick was interested at once. If he 
suspected that he was not being told quite all there 
was to tell, he made no sign. When Fudge had 
reached a slightly breathless but triumphant con- 
clusion Dick nodded. ‘Til be glad to speak to 
Louise,' ” he said, “and to the others as well. I 
don’t believe that Mr. Brent is employing any sur- 
veyors just now, for I think he has done all he 
is going to do on the addition at present. There’s 
talk of re-locating the trolley line that runs over 
|. to Sterling and I believe he is not going to do 
; anything more until that has been settled. But 
we’ll do what we can, Fudge, the lot of us. If 
| it’s as bad as you say with this chap, he ought to 
have some work given him. Do you suppose he 
203 


THE PURPLE PENNANT 
can do anything else if there's no engineering just 
now?” 

“He can run a livery stable,” said Fudge doubt- 
fully. 

“And punch cattle,” added Perry. 

“Pm afraid there isn’t much chance of his get- 
ting a j*ob at cattle-punching in Clearfield,” Dick 
laughed. “All right, fellows, I’ll speak about it 
this evening. I was just going to run over to the 
Brents’ when you came. Look me up to-morrow 
and I’ll tell you what the result is.” 

They took their departure, highly satisfied, and 
Dick sped away in Eli. When he reached Brent- 
wood he found Louise and Lanny in absorbed dis- 
cussion of the Track Trophy. Louise Brent was 
a tall, blue-eyed girl of fifteen, with a fair skin and 
much yellow-brown hair. She was attractive more 
on account of her expression than her features. 
Dick was made welcome and Lanny explained about 
the trophy, and the three laid plans and drew 
sketches for the better part of an hour. Louise 
was enthusiastic and promised to interest the other 
girls at once. “You just wait, Lanny,” she said. 

“It’s going to be the most scrumptious pennant 
you ever saw. We’ll get Lila Abbey to do the laurel 
wreath part. She’s perfectly wonderful at that 
sort of thing. Oughtn’t we to put it on a stick?” 

204 


THE OFFICER AT THE DOOR 

“I suppose so. And tie it with purple ribbons, 
eh?” 

“Of course.” Louise reflected, tapping a pencil 
against her white teeth. “It isn’t going to be aw- 
fully easy, but we’ll do it all right. When ought 
we to have it done?” 

“Why, I guess there’s no hurry. Any time be- 
fore the Springdale meet will do, I think.” 

“Better have it on exhibition a week or so in one 
of the windows down town,” suggested Dick. 

“We can have it done in two weeks, I’m cer- 
tain,” said Louise. “I’ll get a whole lot of the 
girls around here some afternoon and we’ll work 
on it. And — and it’s supposed to be our idea en- 
tirely, you say, Lanny?” 

“Yes, we thought it would be better like that. 
You needn’t tell the others that we know anything 
about it. Just sort of give them to understand 
that it’s your idea and that Guy and the rest of 
us are tickled to death with it.” 

“I wouldn’t want to pretend I thought of it,” 
replied Louise, “because, of course, I didn’t, but I 
don’t suppose anyone will ask who did think of it. 
What we ought to do, first of all, I guess, is to 
make a pattern of it so as to get it just the right 
size.” 

“Ought to have a drawing made, I’d say,” re- 
205 


THE PURPLE PENNANT 
marked Dick, “so you’ll know just where the let- 
tering goes and all that.” 

“Oh, dear, you’re just trying to make it harder !” 
sighed Louise. “You’re quite right, though; only 
I’m sure I don’t know who could do it. I know 
I couldn’t. Could you, Lanny ?” 

“Great Scott, not I can’t draw a straight line.” 

“Oh, you’ll find someone,” said Dick reassur- 
ingly. “Or,” struck by a sudden thought, “I’ll tell 
you what, Louise. There’s a chap here in town, 
a civil engineer named Addicks, who would prob- 
ably be glad to make a drawing of the thing. I 
was going to speak to you about him later. He’s 
out of work and having rather a hard time of it. 
Fudge and Perry Hull came to see me this even- 
ing just before I left the house and told me about 
him. The two kids were quite excited ; wanted me 
to see you and ask you to try and get your father 
to give him some work. Philanthropy’s rather a 
new stunt for Fudge, but he made out a bully case 
for the chap; got me all wrought up about him! 
Fudge says he has a room in that block where Gin- 
ter’s Bakery is and cooks his own meals there and 
is frightfully hard up.” 

“The poor man !” said Louise. 

“Yes, according to Fudge, he lives on sausages 
and bread and coffee.” 


206 


THE OFFICER AT THE DOOR 

“Sausages aren’t bad,” said Lanny judicially. 
“Getting a bit late for them, though. If I were he, 
I’d switch to lamb chops.” 

“Don’t be horrid,” said Louise. “Of course I’ll 
ask papa, Dick. And I’ll just insist on his find- 
ing something for the poor man to do. I dare say 
papa knows the railroad people well enough to get 
them to give him work.” 

“The railroad people?” asked Dick. 

“Yes, you said he was an engineer, didn’t you?’ 5 

“Civil engineer, not railway, Louise.” 

“Oh! That’s different, isn’t it? Civil engineers 
survey things, don’t they?” 

“Correct,” replied Lanny. “Have you forgot- 
ten the famous poem written by a civil engineer? 
Something about Tm monarch of all I survey ; My 
right there is none to dispute’; remember?” 

“That was Cowper,” replied Louise scathingly. 
“And he was a poet, not a civil engineer.” 

“Oh, all right! Of the two I’d rather be the 
engineer, though, and live on sausages.” 

“Lanny, you’re crazy in the head,” laughed 
Dick. 

“He’s just silly,” corrected Louise. “Papa has a 
; good deal of surveying done, I think, Dick, and 
I’m sure he could find some for this Mister ” 

“Addicks is the name,” prompted Dick. “I wish 
207 


THE PURPLE PENNANT 
you’d ask him, anyway. I suppose he isn’t in 
this evening?” 

“No, he and mamma went out to make a call. 
Maybe he will be back before you go, though.” 

“Does he usually stay out until midnight?” s&id 
Lanny innocently. Louise blushed a little. 

“You’re quite horrid this evening,” she charged. 
“If you want me to make that pennant for you, 
you’d better behave yourself.” 

“I’ll do the nicest thing I know,” returned Lanny 
sweetly. “I’ll go home !” 

The next afternoon Clearfield played Fern wood 
High School on the diamond and beat the visiting 
nine decisively, 14 to 3. The work of the purple 
team was rather ragged and neither Haley nor 
Nostrand, both of whom pitched that afternoon, 
w r as in good form. Hits were frequent on both 
sides, but Clearfield’s performance in the field pre- 
vented many runs by the visitors. Fernwood, on 
the other hand, had two bad innings, during which 
their infield threw' the ball wdld, and errors, cou- 
pled with some timely hitting by Bryan, Cotner 
and Merrick, in especial, enabled the home team 
to pile up a safe score before the game was half 
over. As Lanny was working with the track men 
that afternoon, his place was taken by Terry Car- 
son, and the substitute caught a nearly perfect game 
208 


THE OFFICER AT THE DOOR 


until the eighth inning when a foul tip glanced 
away from a bat and split one of his fingers. After 
that McCoy went behind the plate, and it was a 
marvel that the visitors didn’t pull the game out 
of the fire, for Sprague McCoy, an outfielder, was 
quite at sea in the backstop position. Nostrand, 
however, who was in the points during the last 
four innings, got himself together and managed to 
stave off two batting rallies. The incident opened 
Dick’s eyes to the fact that a second substitute 
catcher was needed, and he and Captain Jones went 
a-hunting. It was Pete Robey upon whom their 
choice finally fell, and Pete found himself suddenly 
elevated from an insecure position amongst the rab- 
ble to a seat on the first team bench. But that was 
a day or two later. To-day Dick and Warner Jones 
were still discussing the matter when they left the 
field, and it was into that discussion that Fudge 
broke when he and Perry caught up with the older 
boys just as Dick swung himself into the run- 
about. 

“Dick, did you find out anything last night?” 
:j asked Fudge eagerly. 

“Hello, Fudge ! Hello, Perry! Why, yes, some- 
thing. Pile in here and I’ll tell you in a minute. 

: Let Perry sit in your lap, Warner, will you? 
Fudge, you squat on the floor.” 

209 


THE PURPLE PENNANT 

“Don’t drag your feet, though,” warned the cap- 
tain humorously, “or you’ll stop the car.” He and 
Dick resumed their discussion of the catcher ques- 
tion and kept it up until Warner got out at his 
gate. When they trundled on Dick turned to the 
expectant Fudge. 

“I spoke to Louise last night, Fudge, about your 
friend, and then she spoke to her father this morn- 
ing. I suspect that he didn’t much want to hire 
What’s-his-name, but Louise is a very determined 
person and she finally got him to say that if this 
friend of yours would call on him at his office to- 
morrow morning — he’s in New York to-day — he’d 
talk with him. Louise telephoned me at breakfast 
about it. She said Mr. Brent was very obstinate 
at first.” 

“That’s b-b-bully !” exclaimed Fudge. 

“Well, don’t expect too much,” warned Dick. 
“Mr. Brent isn’t likely to hire him unless he can 
prove that he knows his business. I know enough 
about Mr. Brent to be certain of that, Fudge.” 

“Sure, but he does know his business! He’s a 
very fine civil engineer.” 

“How do you know ?” asked Dick gravely. “Has 
he ever done any work for you?” 

Perry chuckled, and Fudge reddened a bit. “No, 
but — but you can t-t-t-tell he is, Dick !” 

210 


THE OFFICER AT THE DOOR 

“I see. Well, do you think he can draw?” 

Fudge looked doubtfully at Perry, found no help 
there and replied sturdily: “You bet he can! He’s 
a great drawer, he is !” 

Dick smiled as he slowed down at Perry’s gate. 
“I asked because the girls are going to make a silk 
pennant as a prize for the Track Team and they 
want someone to make a drawing of it to work 
by. I told Louise that perhaps this fellow Ad- 
dicks could do it for them. Do you think he 
could ?” 

“I know he could,” answered Fudge, with beau- 
tiful faith. “What’s it for, this pennant?” 

“Why, it’s to go, I believe, to the fellow who does 
the best work for us in the meet with Springdale. 
It’s to be rather a gorgeous affair ; purple silk with 
green leaves and white lettering. Suppose you see 
Mr. Addicks and tell him about it and ask if he 
will do it. There isn’t much money in it, because 
the girls have got to go to quite a little expense 
before they’re through, I guess. Louise thought 
a dollar would be enough, but you could ask him 
^ what he’d do it for. If it wasn’t much more than 
that, I guess they’d pay it. Mind doing that ?” 

“No, indeed! We’ll do it right now. It’s just 
I around the corner. Want to come along?” 

“Thanks, no, I’ve got to get home. Call me up 


THE PURPLE PENNANT 


this evening and tell me what he says. Much 
obliged, and I hope that job will pan out, fellows. 
Good-night !” 

It was getting dark in the building when Fudge 
and Perry went in and climbed the stairs. Half- 
way up they encountered some of the workers in 
the glove factory, but after that the building seemed 
deserted. At the top of the last flight, though, they 
discovered that it wasn’t, for, in front of Mr. Ad- 
dicks’ door at the end of the twilit corridor a bulky 
figure stood. As the boys looked the figure took 
on the appearance of a policeman. The policeman — 
they could see him more plainly now that their eyes 
had accustomed themselves to the half darkness — 
rapped loudly, imperatively on the door. He 
waited, and, as there was no response, he tried the 
handle. The door was locked. Then he bent close 
to the sign, as though making certain he was not 
mistaken, glanced up at the closed transom and 
swung around. Fudge dragged Perry forward and 
began an examination of the signs on the nearer 
portals as the policeman, walking almost noiselessly 
on rubber-soled shoes, passed them with a brief 
but searching glance. As his quiet footfalls died 
away in the hall below Fudge turned a wild, 
alarmed gaze on Perry. 

“They’re after him!” he whispered hoarsely. 

212 


CHAPTER XIX 


THE TRAIN-ROBBER IS WARNED 

MYRON ADDICKS returned home 
Jl ▼ JL rat ^ er ^ ater th an usual that afternoon. Al- 
though he had knocked about the world a 
good deal during his twenty-seven years, and had 
put up with a good many discomforts, he had been 
telling himself of late that his present domicile was 
about as dreary and unsatisfactory as any he had 
ever endured. The best thing he could say of it 
was that the rent was cheap, cheaper than that of 
any other room he had been able to find in Clear- 
held. But there was little else to be said in its 
favor. There was no view to be enjoyed, the build- 
ing was silent and lonely after dark — save in the 
basement, from whence a strong odor of baking 
arose every night — and a bath was almost an im- 
possibility. Unfortunately, until his income had at 
least doubled itself, he could not afford to pay more, 
and this afternoon, tramping along a country road 
outside of town, he had reached the conclusion that 
213 


THE PURPLE PENNANT 

any increase in his income was not to be expected 
and that the best thing he could do was to hit the 
trail back West. In short, he was rather discour- 
aged to-day, a condition of mind very unusual 
with him, and when he entered the building 
to climb the two flights to his cheerless “home” 
he had just about determined to pack his battered 
trunk. 

He stopped, as was his custom, to apply a match 
to the single gas-jet at the top of the first flight, 
and repeated the operation in the hall above. And 
having turned the key to his liking he heard his 
name spoken and looked into the anxious faces of 
Fudge and Perry. 

“Hello!” he greeted them. “What are you fel- 
lows doing up here?” 

His tone lacked warmth, but the boys didn’t no- 
tice the fact. 

“We came to see you about something,” replied 
Fudge, in lowered voice. And then he glanced ap- 
prehensively toward the stairs. “Do you mind if 
we go in your room, sir?” 

“Why, no; glad to have you.” Mr. Addicks pro- 
duced his key and opened his door. “Wait till I 
light up or you’ll break your necks in here. Mighty 
nice of you boys to call.” The gas shed light on 
the rather bare room and Mr. Addicks nodded 
214 


THE TRAIN-ROBBER IS WARNED 
at the chairs. “Sit down and confess all,” he 
went on. “How’s the world been treating you 
two?” 

“All right, sir,” answered Fudge hurriedly. “But 
that isn’t it. What we want to tell you is that — 
that they’re after you, sir.” 

“After me?” asked the other mildly. “Who 
is?” 

‘The — the police, sir.” Fudge continued breath- 
lessly. “We came up about a half-hour ago and 
he didn’t hear us, I guess, and he knocked and then 
he tried the door. We made believe ” 

“Whoa ! Back up ! Let’s have this right, Shaw. 
You came up here to see me a half-hour ago and 
saw someone knock on my door and try to open 
it. Who was he?” 

“A. policeman, Mr. Addicks; a big, fat police- 
man. We made believe we were looking for an- 
other room and he went out again and we stayed 
here to warn you.” 

“Why, now that was kind of you,” replied Mr. 
Addicks gravely. “But just why did you think I 
ought to be warned?” 

Fudge hesitated. After all, it was not a pleas- 
ant task to inform a man that you knew him to 
be a criminal. Perry moved uneasily in his chair, 
but failed to come to his chum’s assistance. 

2*5 


THE PURPLE PENNANT 

‘‘Come on,” persisted Mr. Addicks. “We’re all 
friends together. What’s the idea, Shaw?” 

Fudge threw a final appealing glance at Perry 
and plunged: “It’s none of our business, sir, only 
I — er — I happened to see the notice in the express 
office and ” 

“What notice?” 

“About the train-robber. And then we — we came 
in the other day and couldn’t help seeing the scar 
and — and knowing.” 

“What scar, Shaw ?” 

“On your arm, sir; the white scar just like the 
description says.” 

“The white Oh!” Mr. Addicks nodded 

comprehendingly. 

“We haven’t breathed a word to anyone, Mr. 
Addicks, but I guess they got on to you. And we 
thought you ought to know.” 

“Of course.” Mr. Addicks’ countenance held 
puzzlement and some amusement, and he was silent 
a moment. At last: “Let’s have this just right 
now,” he said. “You suspect me of being this train- 
robber and you think the police are after me. Is 
that it?” 

“Y-yes, sir.” 

“The description of the robber fits me, does it?” 

“Why, yes, sir, all except the height. I guess 
216 


THE TRAIN-ROBBER IS WARNED 


you’re more than five feet and ten inches, aren’t 
you?” 

“Five feet, eleven. But that’s near enough. 
What was the fellow’s name, by the way?” 

“He had two or three names. Edward Hurley 
was one of them, and another was Crowell, and — 
I don’t remember the other.” 

“Fenney,” supplied Perry subduedly. 

“Ha!” Mr. Addicks arose from the table on 
which he had been seated, thrust his hands into his 
pockets and walked to the window. The boys ex- 
changed expressive glances. After a moment’s 
silent contemplation of the twilit world outside 
Mr. Addicks turned back. 

“How do you suppose they found out?” he asked, 
in a low voice. 

Fudge shook his head. “Maybe you left off your 
disguise some time, sir.” 

“My — my what?” 

“Disguise ; the mustache, sir.” 

“Oh, yes, the mustache. That’s it, I guess.” 

“Yes, sir, you didn’t have it on when you came 
in just now, you know.” 

“Careless!” sighed Mr. Addicks. “No wonder 
they spotted me. Well, what must be must be, 
boys!” He sank into a chair with a gesture of 
surrender. “I guess it’s all up, hombres.” 

217 


THE PURPLE PENNANT 

“Couldn’t you — couldn’t you make your get- 
away?” asked Fudge, lowering his voice and glanc- 
ing apprehensively toward the door. Mr. Addicks 
laid finger to lips, tiptoed across and suddenly threw 
the door open. Thrilled, Fudge and Perry leaned 
forward to look. The corridor, however, was 
empty. 

Leaving the door slightly ajar, Mr. Addicks re- 
turned to his seat. 

“You mean,” he asked, “that I might get away 
before they came back for me?” 

Fudge nodded. 

“I wonder! You’re certain you haven’t told any- 
one, Shaw? Or you, Hull?” 

“No, sir, we haven’t,” replied Fudge emphati- 
cally, even indignantly. “We haven’t said a word 
to anyone. We — we thought at first you were a 
safe-breaker,” he added apologetically. 

“What made you think that?” 

“I don’t know exactly. Of course, we knew you 
weren’t just an ordinary thief, sir; we could see 
that; and so I — we thought maybe that was your 
line.” 

“You wronged me there,” said Mr. Addicks, in 
hurt tones. “I’ve never cracked a safe in my life, 
Shaw.” 

“I’m sorry, sir. Only — how did you get the 
218 


THE TRAIN-ROBBER IS WARNED 

money from the express car at Cartwright? Didn’t 
you have to break the safe open?” 

“Oh, that? Why, you see — but, look here, what 
made you first suspect me?” 

“I guess it was the disguise. Besides, we knew 
you were playing the piano at the theater just for 
a— for a bluff.” 

“So you knew that, eh?” muttered Mr. Addicks. 
He viewed Fudge with admiration. “It’s a good 
thing you’re not on the police force, Shaw, or I’d 
have been nabbed long ago. You’re a regular 
! Burns!” 

Fudge strove to disguise his delight in the praise, 

I and Perry broke into the conversation anxiously. 
“Don’t you think you’d ought to be going, sir?” 
he asked. “They may come back any moment.” 

“You’re right.” Mr. Addicks referred to a tin 
alarm clock on the table. “Ten after six,” he mut- 
tered. “It’s a desperate chance, but I’ll take it.” 
He disappeared into the closet and returned with 
a much-worn valise which he placed, open, on a 
chair. “Now then, let’s see.” He glanced frown- 
: ingly about the room. “I can’t take much with me. 

I I guess I’d better foot it to the next town and jump 
I the train there. Maybe they won’t be looking for 
I me. Boys, I don’t want to drive you away, but 
if they should come and find you here they might 
219 


THE PURPLE PENNANT 

suspect you of tipping me off. I wouldn’t want 
you to get into trouble on my account, and it might 
go hard with you if they found it out. Better get 
out while there’s time.” 

Fudge looked uneasy. “Well, maybe we had,” 
he murmured. “They might put us through the 
third degree and make us tell.” 

“That’s just what they’d do,” said Mr. Addicks 
convincedly. “I’m mighty grateful to you fellows, 
and if the thanks of a train-robber are of any value 
to you ” 

“Whafs that?” asked Perry, startled. With a 
swift leap Mr. Addicks reached the gaslight and 
turned it out. In the darkness they listened with 
straining ears. No sound reached them, however, 
beyond the usual noises from the street. “I 
thought,” muttered Perry aoologetically, “I heard 
something.” 

“I g-g-guess,” said Fudge, as Mr. Addicks lighted 
the gas again, “I g-g-guess we’d better go.” 

“Yes,” whispered Mr. Addicks, “don’t run any 
risks. Good-by, boys. Take care of yourselves 
and, whatever you do, remain honest.” He shook 
hands with Fudge and then with Perry. “Remem- 
ber that honesty is the best policy and take it from 
me that there’s nothing in train robbery. A fellow 
hasn’t got a fair chance nowadays.” 

220 


‘What’s that?’ asked Perry, startled” 




THE TRAIN-ROBBER IS WARNED 

“Couldn’t you — if they don’t get you this time, 
sir, couldn’t you — ” Perry faltered embarrassedly 
— “couldn’t you reform, sir?” 

“I’ll try, Hull, I swear to you I’ll try.” Mr. 
Addicks seemed quite affected and, after the door 
had closed behind them, they thought they heard 
a sob. They stole noiselessly down the stairs. On 
the sidewalk Fudge drew a deep breath of relief 
as he glanced left and right and saw no police- 
man. 

“Gee, I hope he gets away,” he whispered 
huskily. 

I Perry nodded. “So do I. He — he’s a mighty 
nice fellow. What do you say if we stay around 
until he goes, Fudge? I’d like to be sure he gets 
away, wouldn’t you?” 

“Yes, but it wouldn’t be safe. They might — 
might connect us with his escape. Why, even now 
they may be watching the building! Come on, but 
don’t walk too fast. Try to look careless, Perry.” 

So, looking careless, they reached the corner, but 
there, to Perry’s surprise, Fudge seized him by 
the arm and dragged him on. “We’ve got to throw 
them off the track,” he muttered. “They may fol- 
low us.” 

Silently they proceeded another block and then, 
when Fudge had turned quickly and glanced back 
221 


THE PURPLE PENNANT 




along G Street, they slipped around the corner, 
cut through a yard and climbed a fence, dodged 
past a house and finally gained Troutman 
Street. 

“There, ” said Fudge, with satisfaction, “I guess 
we’ve thrown them off all right.” He stopped a 
moment, made a silent investigation and added 
darkly : “I hope they tear their pants on that fence 
the way I did!” 

“It must be awfully late,” said Perry. “I guess 
I’ll go back this way; it’s shorter.” 

“Better not,” warned Fudge. “Come on to F 
Street. They might see you.” 

“I hope,” mused Perry as they went on down 
the block, “I hope he will try to reform, Fudge. 
He doesn’t seem what you’d call a hardened crimi- 
nal, does he?” 

“No, he doesn’t. I guess there’s a lot of good in 
him, Perry. I dare say he will get away safely 
and go back out West and settle down just like 
you or me.” 

“I do hope so.” Perry sighed. “I liked him a 
lot, Fudge.” 

“Me, too. I wish he wasn’t a criminal, that’s 
what I wish. And, oh, shucks, now he can’t do 
that drawing! I’ll have to tell Dick that he left 
town unexpectedly. Say, let’s do something to- 
222 


THE TRAIN-ROBBER IS WARNED 

night, Perry. Think your folks’ll let you go to 
the movies?” 

‘Til ask them. I ought to study, but — but I 
guess I’m too excited.” Perry laughed softly. 
“Say, a fellow doesn’t save a train-robber from 
the police every day, does he?” 

“I guess not! I guess if the fellows knew what 
we’d been up to to-day they’d open their eyes!” 

“I suppose, though, we oughtn’t to tell them.” 

“Hm, well, not for a long while,” answered 
Fudge. 

As Fudge had remained away from the theater 
for some time, his mother, after extracting a prom- 
ise to get up early and study his lessons before 
breakfast, at last consented to let him go, and 
Fudge was leaning over Perry’s fence promptly 
at twenty minutes to eight and whistling his doleful 
signal. Perry joined him without his cap and spoke 
subduedly. 

“Will you wait a few minutes, Fudge ?” he asked 
apologetically. “Dad and mother are going with 
us. Do you mind very much ?” 

Fudge kicked the base-board of the fence, a reck- 
less thing to do considering the condition of it, and 
finally replied with a noticeable lack of enthusiasm : 
“Of course not — much. What they going for, 
Perry? I didn’t know they ever went.” 

- 223 


THE PURPLE PENNANT 

“They don’t. Only dad took it into his head that 
he’d like to see what the movies are like, and ma 
said she’d go, too. I’m sorry.” 

“Well ” Fudge stopped and then asked 

hopefully : “Do you think they’ll pay for me, 
Perry?” 

“I guess so,” was the doubtful answer. Further 
conversation across the fence was prevented by a 
summons for Perry, and a minute or two later the 
quartette was on its way to the theater. To Fudge’s 
satisfaction, Doctor Hull, directed by Perry, at- 
tended to the trifling matter of tickets and they 
filed in. The slight delay had allowed the front 
half of the house to fill and they were obliged to 
seat themselves fifteen rows back, a location not 
at all to Fudge’s liking. Fudge derived great en- 
joyment, in the interims between films, from ob- 
serving the orchestra, and from back here all he 
could see well was just the man at the piano, and 
the man at the piano was the least interesting 

“Why, Fudge Shaw, what is the matter?” ex- 
claimed Mrs. Hull. 

“N-n-nothing, ma’am,” replied Fudge chokingly. 

“Aren’t you well ?” 

“Y-yes’m.” 

“You don’t look it. You sure you don’t feel 
faint ?” 


224 


THE TRAIN-ROBBER IS WARNED 

“No’m — yes’m, I mean. I — I just had a twinge.” 

Mrs. Hull viewed him doubtfully and a trifle 
disapprovingly and turned to the Doctor to con- 
fide her belief that Fudge was by no means a sat- 
isfactory companion for Perry. Whereupon Fudge 
dug his elbow painfully into Perry's ribs and whis- 
pered excitedly: 

“Perry, look down there!” 

“Where? What?” demanded the other, squirm- 
ing out of the way of Fudge’s energetic elbow. 
“What is it?” 

“The man at the piano! Look at him!” 

Perry looked and gasped and looked again. 
Surely that back and those shoulders and that head 
belonged to 

At that instant the piano player turned to speak 
to the violinist and the boys gazed, astounded, on 
the false mustache and smiling countenance of Mr. 
Addicks, the train-robber! 


CHAPTER XX 


MR. ADDICKS EXPLAINS 


F UDGE and Perry gazed spellbound. 

There was no chance of mistake, even at 
that distance. Before them, smiling, uncon- 
cerned, sat Mr. Myron Addicks, one hand resting 
negligently on his hip, the other on the keyboard of 
the piano. No one would ever have suspected him 
of being a fugitive from justice! Presently, quite 
as though he had nothing to fear nor an enemy in 
the world, he turned and looked calmly over the 
audience. Fudge’s gasp was painful in its intensity, 
and Mrs. Hull’s thoughts sped to peppermint 
tea. Then the lights went down, the orchestra 
broke into tuneful melody and the entertainment 
began. 


But all through the performance the two boys 
shivered whenever a footstep came creaking along 
the aisle or there was a sudden stir behind them. 
They had visions of the entire Clearfield Police 
Force, led by the stout and intrepid Chief, filing 
226 


MR. ADDICKS EXPLAINS 


down the passage-way and clapping the hand of the 
Law on the shoulder of the cowboy-pianist. That 
the performance came finally to an end without any- 
thing of the sort happening was almost unbeliev- 
able. The boys accompanied the Doctor and Mrs. 
Hull home, talking in excited whispers all the way 
but reaching no satisfactory conclusions regarding 
Mr. Addicks’ strange actions. The Doctor, who 
had been innocently surprised and delighted with 
his first experience of moving pictures, frequently 
interrupted their conversation with questions and 
reminiscences and they reached the gate before 
they realized it. Perry’s request to be allowed to 
walk half-way home with Fudge was firmly denied 
and the latter took his departure with a last 
whispered: “I’ll be around at seven, Perry. Be 
ready !” 

What was to happen at seven in the morning, 
what he was to be ready for, Perry didn’t know, 
but the mysterious command added further inter- 
est to an already absorbing state of affairs and 
: Perry presently went to bed to participate in the 
wildest and weirdest adventures that ever befell 
a sleeping youth! 

He was up at a little after six, dressed by half- 
past and waiting on the front porch in a patch 
of sunlight. Fudge, in spite of his good inten- 
227 


THE PURPLE PENNANT 

tions, was late and it was almost a quarter past 
seven when he appeared hurrying down the 
street. Perry joined him on the sidewalk and 
Fudge, linking arms, conducted him around the 
corner. 

“We’re going to see him,” he said determinedly. 
“If he hasn’t gone already maybe he can get away 
before they look for him.” 

He hadn’t gone. Fudge’s peremptory knock 
was followed by the sudden opening of the door 
and the vision of a surprised and pa jama-clad Mr. 
Addicks confronting them. Fudge allowed no 
time for questions. He pushed past the puzzled 
train-robber, followed by Perry, and motioned the 
door shut. There was no evidence of hurried 
flight in view. The room looked quite as usual. 
The screen had been removed, revealing a tumbled 
cot-bed evidently very recently occupied, and on 
a one-burner stove, connected with the gas bracket 
by a tube, stood a sauce-pan of water which was 
already bubbling about the edges. Other indica- 
tions of breakfast were there ; two eggs and a tiny 
coffee canister and a half loaf of bread adorning a 
corner of the table. Fudge’s voice was almost stern 
as he confronted Mr. Addicks. 

“Why didn’t you beat it?” he demanded in a 
hoarse whisper. “Do you zvant to get pinched?’' 

228 


MR. ADDICKS EXPLAINS 


Mr. Addicks politely controlled a yawn and 
viewed Fudge with puzzlement. Then he scratched 
his head, picked up a tattered dressing-gown and 
slipped into it and, seating himself on the bed, 
thrust his hands into the pockets of the robe and 
spoke. 

“Look here, boys, what is this?” he asked plain- 
tively. “I’m an awful poor performer before break- 
fast.” 

“But — but you said you were going last night!” 
said Fudge accusingly. “And we saw you playing 
the piano at the theater! Why, they might have 
nabbed you any minute!” 

Mr. Addicks shook his head. “I was disguised,” 
he replied. 

“That’s no disguise,” said Fudge contemptu- 
ously. “You’re taking awful chances, sir. 
Couldn’t you get away now before they start to 
look for you?” 

“Before I’ve had my breakfast?” demanded the 
man weakly. 

“Well, wouldn’t you rather go without break- 
fast than have it in jail?” inquired Fudge impa- 
tiently. “If you start right now you might get 
the seven-forty train. I don’t believe they’d be 
watching the station so early, sir!” 

Mr. Addicks’ expression became gravely curi- 
22 9 


THE PURPLE PENNANT 
otts. “Now, look here, hombres,” he said, “this 
is just play, isn’t it?” 

“Play!” gasped Fudge. “What do you mean, 
play?” 

“Why, this police business, of course. I mean, 
you don’t really believe that I’m that train-robber 
hero of yours, do you?” 

Fudge’s jaw dropped and he stared blankly. 
Finally : “Do you m-m-mean that — that you 
aren’t?” he asked in a small voice. 

Mr. Addicks shrugged. “'Naturally I mean that, 
Shaw. I thought yesterday that you fellows were 
playing a game and I entered into it for the fun 
of it. Rut when you burst in at half-past seven 
in the morning and want me to leave town 
without any breakfast — well, I quit. You’ll 
have to find someone else for the part, old 
chap!” 

“And you’re not the train-robber?” gasped 
Fudge. 

“My dear fellow, I never robbed a train in my 
life. Sorry to disappoint you, but — well, there 
it is!” 

“Then — then w-w-what have you done?” Fudge 
demanded. 

“Not a thing,” laughed Mr. Addicks. “Shaw, 
you’ll have to reconstruct your ideas of me. I’m 
230 


MR. ADDICKS EXPLAINS 

not the man you want at all. I never robbed a 
train or cracked a safe or even snatched a purse. 
I’m just an unromantic sort of a dub with no 
criminal record at all.” 

“I just knew it,” murmured Perry, relieved. 

Mr. Addicks glanced at him and smiled. 
“Thanks for your good opinion, Hull,” he said. 
“Now, fellows, let’s thresh this out. How did you 
get it into your head I was the train-robber, 
Shaw?” 

Fudge, still mazed and a bit incoherent, did his 
best to explain. He told the story from the start, 
acknowledging that for a while he had only half- 
pretended to believe in the theory of Mr. Addicks’ 
criminality, but owning that the notice in the ex- 
press office, coupled with blue eyes and a scar 
on the left fore-arm, had ultimately convinced him. 
Several times during his recital Mr. Addicks 
chuckled amusedly, and when Fudge had reached 
a somewhat lame finish he pulled back the sleeves 
of his dressing-gown and pajama jacket. 

“What sort of a scar was it?” he asked gravely. 
“It — it was a white scar about two inches long, 
sir,” stammered Fudge. 

Mr. Addicks held out his arm for inspection. 
“Have a look,” he said. Perry and Fudge looked. 
Then Fudge turned the arm over. Then he lifted 
231 


THE PURPLE PENNANT 

surprised eyes to Mr. Addicks. “It m-m-m-must 
have b-b-been the other one!” he said. 

Mr. Addicks obligingly bared the right arm. 
Neither one showed any sign of a scar! Fudge 
was plainly dazed. 

“B-b-but I s-s-s-saw it!” he muttered. Mr. Ad- 
dicks laughed. 

“So did I, and it must have been the day you 
were here that first time. I upset the tooth-pow- 
der that morning — my toilet accommodations are a 
bit sketchy, you see — and got some on my arm. 
I found it there that night. I guess that was the 
scar you saw, my friend.” 

Fudge gazed helplessly from Perry to Mr. Ad- 
dicks and back to Perry. His expression was too 
ludicrous for Perry to view with a straight face 
and suddenly the latter burst into a laugh. Mr. 
Addicks joined him. Finally Fudge followed suit, 
although a bit sheepishly. And when the merri- 
ment was subsiding he pointed an accusing finger 
toward the table. 

“How about th-th-that?” he demanded. 

“That” was a luxuriant brown false mustache 
lying on the table. 

“Eh? Oh, the ‘disguise/ ” chuckled Mr. Ad- 
dicks. “Well, Pll tell you. That did look bad, 
I guess. You see, I was pretty nearly broke when 
232 


MR. ADDICKS EXPLAINS 

I struck this place and found that my inheritance 
was nothing more than a full-grown, man-size 
mortgage. So I looked around for something to 
do until I could get a start at surveying. I couldn’t 
find anything until I happened on an advertise- 
ment in the paper for a pianist at the theater. Well, 
playing in a theater orchestra didn’t seem to me 
to be just what you’d expect a civil engineer to do. 
I thought that perhaps if people knew I did that 
they wouldn’t consider me much good as a sur- 
veyor. So I concluded I’d wear that mustache 
as a sort of disguise. I had a lot of trouble with 
it at first. Got to the stage door one day with- 
out it and had to go back for it. And once it 
dropped off on the piano keys, but no one noticed 
it, fortunately. This leading a double life is try- 
ing, fellows! 

At that moment the sauce-pan on the little stove 
began to boil over and Mr. Addicks jumped up 
and rescued it. 

“We’d better be going along, I guess,” said 
Perry. “You haven’t had your breakfast, and 
neither have we.” 

“I’d ask you to have some with me, only, as a 
matter of fact, my larder is pretty empty this 
morning. Tell you what, fellows, drop around 
after the theater this afternoon and we’ll go on 
233 


THE PURPLE PENNANT 
with the trial. Now that Pve started, I’d really 
like to convince you that I’m a respectable mem- 
ber of society.” 

“We believe it already,” replied Perry, with a 
grin. 

“Sure,” agreed Fudge. But his tone held deep 
disappointment, and Mr. Addicks, noting it, 
laughed. 

“Shaw, you almost make me wish I really was 
a train-robber or something desperate!” he said. 
“I suppose you’ll never take any more interest in 
me after this.” 

Fudge smiled, a trifle embarrassed. 

“And,” continued Mr. Addicks, “I can’t much 
blame you. That reward sounded pretty good, I’ll 
warrant !” 

“R-r-reward !” blurted Fudge. “Gee, you don’t 
suppose we were looking for that reward when 
we came here and warned you s-s-s-so you could 
get away!” 

“That’s true, Shaw. I beg your pardon. You 
acted like a good pal there, and I thank you. You 
too, Hull. You both of you acted white. By the 
way, is everything quite cleared up? Any little 
things you’d like explained?” 

“N-no, sir, I guess not,” replied Fudge. “Still, 
about that policeman ” 


234 


MR. ADDICKS EXPLAINS 

“Oh, Lafferty? Well, Lafferty’s rather a friend 
of mine and sometimes drops in for a smoke. 
That’s all.” Mr. Addicks chuckled. “Lafferty 
would be interested if he knew ! But I shan’t tell 
him. Will you come around again and see me 
later?” 

“Yes, sir, thank you,” replied Perry. “And 
Fudge isn’t really sorry you’re not the train-rob- 
ber, Mr. Addicks; are you, Fudge?” 

“Of course not!” Fudge grinned. “Anyway, it 
was a lot of fun while it lasted!” 

“That’s all right, then,” said their host heartily. 
“Glad you don’t hold it against me. I know that 
a civil engineer isn’t as interesting as a desperado, 
fellows, but you drop in now and then and maybe 
we can scare up some excitement, eh? And if you 
ever want a nice job of surveying done, why, you 
let me know, and it won’t cost you a cent.” 

“S-s-surveying !” exclaimed Fudge. “We forgot 
to t-t-t-tell him !” 

“That’s so,” Perry agreed. 

“It’s Mr. B-B-Brent, sir. You’re to g-g-go and 
see him this forenoon and maybe he will have some 
w-w-w-work for you.” 

“You really mean it?” asked Mr. Addicks. 
“Jonathan Brent, over at the mills? What makes 
you think so?” 


235 


THE PURPLE PENNANT 

Whereupon Fudge, Perry assisting, explained, 
and when he had finished Mr. Addicks insisted on 
shaking hands with them both very hard, so hard 
that their fingers ached for minutes afterwards. 

“You chaps are a couple of bricks !” he told them 
delightedly. “I don’t see why you took the trouble 
for me, but I’m certainly obliged. I hope Mr. Brent 
will come across with the job. Even if he 
shouldn’t, I thank you just the same. What sort 
of a man is he, by the way?” 

“He’s a small man,” replied Fudge uncertainly. 
“Sort of wrinkled. Looks right through you and 
out behind. Kind of scares you at first, I guess. 
He’s got a lot of money and made it all himself. 
Gives a heap of it away, though, they say. I guess,” 
he summed up shrewdly, “that if you don’t let him 
scare you, you’ll get on all right.” 

“I’ll try not to,” answered Mr. Addicks gravely. 
Perry smiled. The civil engineer didn’t exactly 
look as if he would be easily frightened! And 
then Fudge recalled Lanny’s message about the de- 
sign for the pennant. 

“Dick said they couldn’t pay very much for it,” 
he explained apologetically, “but maybe a couple 
of dollars ” 

“A couple of fiddlesticks! It won’t cost them 
a cent. I’ll be glad to do it. We’ll talk it over 
236 


MR. ADDICKS EXPLAINS 

this afternoon and I’ll make a sketch and you can 
show it to your friend. I’m only sorry I’m not 
doing it for you chaps.” 

“Well, you will be, in a way,” replied Fudge 
very gravely. “You see, that pennant’s to go to 
the fellow making the most points in the Spring- 
dale meet, and it’s as good as mine right now!” 

Two days later there was a new pianist at the* 
moving picture theater, for Mr. Addicks was busy 
with level and pole on a piece of work that would 
occupy him at least a fortnight. And while there 
had been no promise of further employment, the 
surveyor was pretty certain that Mr. Brent meant 
to keep him at work for some time to come. In 
any case, he had made his start, and the false mus- 
tache reposed nowadays on the wall of his room 
surrounded by the penciled features of a villain- 
ous-looking individual whom he called “Edward 
Hurley, the Noted Train-Robber.” A card ap- 
peared in the Reporter announcing that Myron Ad- 
dicks, Civil Engineer, was at the service of the 
public, and a neat black-and-gold sign was hung 
outside the entrance to the building. Later still 
Mr. Addicks rented the adjoining room and used 
it for an office and workshop. Gradually it as- 
sumed a most business-like appearance. A long 
table held fascinating drawing instruments and 
237 


THE PURPLE PENNANT 

squares and protractors and strange black rubber 
triangles and curves and rolls of tracing cloth and 
printing-frames, to say nothing of paints and inks 
simply begging investigation ! To Fudge that room 
was a never-failing source of delight, and, since 
he and Perry soon became fast friends with Mr. 
Addicks, he had frequent opportunities to test its 
pleasures. By summer both he and Perry had 
dedicated themselves to the profession of civil en- 
gineering and were doing remarkable things with 
compasses and ruling-pens and little black rubber 
squares. It was, I think, shortly after the close 
of school that Fudge commenced his ambitious 
task of mapping the City of Clearfield! But I am 
far ahead of my story. 

The design for the Track Trophy was made, 
submitted and enthusiastically approved. The pen- 
nant itself was completed a week later and was 
placed on exhibition in a window of Cosgrove’s 
jewelry store. A placard neatly printed by Mr. 
Addicks reposed beside it and explained that it 
was to be awarded as a prize to that member of 
the Clearfield High School Track Team winning 
the greatest number of points at the annual meet 
with Springdale High School. It was really a 
very handsome trophy and Louise Brent and her 
aids had done themselves proud. The pennant 
238 


MR. ADDICKS EXPLAINS 


was twenty-four inches in length and fourteen 
inches in height, of heavy purple silk. A wreath 
of green laurel leaves enclosed the letters “C. H. 
S.” in white. Purple satin ribbons held the pen- 
nant to a gilt staff, and altogether it formed a 
prize well worth striving for. And so most of 
the Track Team members thought. 

Besides inciting the members of the team them- 
selves to greater endeavors, the trophy aroused a 
new interest in and enthusiasm for track and field 
athletics throughout the school. Fellows who had 
never for an instant contemplated going out for 
the team were heard regretting the fact that they 
had allowed others to dissuade them and promis- 
ing that next year they’d show something! 

Meanwhile May hurried along with sunny skies 
— and some cloudy ones for variety — and the base- 
ball players began to meet opponents worthy of 
their skill and the Track Team, imbued with a new 
enthusiasm, worked their hardest. 


CHAPTER XXI 


ON THE TRACK 

B Y the middle of the month the Track Team 
comprised twenty members, several less 
than coach and captain had hoped for. By 
a good deal of intricate scheming those twenty 
were apportioned over the seven track and five field 
events so that in each Clearfield would be repre- 
sented by not less than three wearers of the purple. 
In many cases a second was the best that Captain 
Felker dared hope for, in some cases a third 
would be all he expected. A number of the fel- 
lows were being coached in things they had never 
dreamed of undertaking. George Tupper, for in- 
stance, who had run fourth last spring in the 440- 
yards, had been prevailed on to drop that event 
and go in for the mile, since the four-forty was 
represented by three more promising performers 
and the mile run was left to Toll and Smith. In 
the same way, Thad Brimmer, whose specialty was 
the weights, was induced to make a third com- 
240 


ON THE TRACK 

petitor in the high jump. Lanny White, who was 
entered for both dashes and the high hurdles, en- 
tered for the low hurdles also. Soper, a fair 
sprinter, developed remarkably as a broad-jumper. 

Of course there were disappointments at first 
in what Arthur Beaton humorously called “inten- 
sive track athletics.” That is, several fellows se- 
lected for events that were new to them failed ab- 
solutely to show any ability and had to be switched 
to something else. Neither Coach Presser nor Cap- 
tain Felker hoped to develop extraordinary talent 
in this way. What they desired to do was to be 
represented in each event by at least three con- 
testants and so possibly gain here or there a point 
or two that would otherwise go to Springdale. 
When the final arrangement was completed there 
were four entries for the ioo-yards dash, the 220- 
yards dash, the hammer-throw and the shot-put, 
and three for each of the other events on the 
program. Lanny White was to attempt more than 
any other member of the team, being down for 
four events, and several others were down for 
three. Naturally, Lanny did not expect to be 
placed in each of his races, but there was always 
the chance of crowding a Springdale fellow out in 
the trials. In the dashes Lanny was fairly cer- 
tain of getting a first and a second, if not two 
241 


THE PURPLE PENNANT 


firsts, and he hoped to get placed in the high hur- 
dles. Perry Hull had attempted to show form as 
a broad- jumper, but after a week of it had con- 
vinced Skeet that that was not his forte. In the 
end he was slated for the sprints only. 

Perry had his second time-trial on the seven- 
teenth of the month and Skeet announced the 
time as io 3/5 for the hundred and 24 3/5 for the 
two-twenty. Neither performance was remark- 
able, but Perry had a strong belief in his ability 
to better them both ; and, in any case, he had per- 
formed as well as any of his teammates except 
Lanny and Kirke in the hundred and Lanny in 
the two-twenty. Lanny told him he had done finely 
and assured him that in another fortnight he would 
be able to cut another fifth of a second from his 
time. “And if you do,” said Lanny, “you'll stand 
as good a chance for second place as any of 
the fellows. I don’t think that Springdale has 
a sprinter who can do better than two-fifths 
this year. It will be a corking race for second 
place !” 

Perry was encouraged and his enthusiasm arose 
to new heights. For the next week he clamored 
for another time-trial, but Skeet denied him. In- 
stead, he insisted on Perry working well over his 
distance for days after that trial, and neither he 
242 


ON THE TRACK 

nor the other sprinters were once allowed to show 
their real speed. 

Meanwhile, Perry was observing such strict rules 
of diet that Mrs. Hull was in despair. Perry’s nat- 
ural liking for pie and cake was sternly repressed 
and his mother became frequently quite impatient 
and said that training was a piece of foolishness 
and that Perry would soon be only skin and bones 
unless he ate more. There seemed to be some jus- 
tification for her fears, for the steady work on 
the cinders was certainly carving Perry pretty fine. 
He had not been by any means fat before, but now 
he was getting down to his muscles, and one morn- 
ing when his mother surprised him on his way to 
the bath and viewed the slimness of his legs as 
revealed by a flapping dressing-robe, she sent up a 
wail of alarm and forthwith sought the Doctor, 
declaring that “this running just had to be stopped 
or Perry would starve to death before their eyes! 
He looks right now,” she said, “like one of those 
Indian famine victims I” But the Doctor de- 
clined to become concerned. “He’s better off as 
he is, Mother,” he replied. “A fifteen-year-old boy 
doesn’t need fat.” 

“But he’s not eating anything!” 

“You mean,” the Doctor chuckled, “he’s not eat- 
ing pie and cake and a mess of sweet truck. I’ve 
243 


THE PURPLE PENNANT 

failed to notice, though, that he has ever refused 
a third helping of meat and vegetables lately ! Sup- 
pose, instead of pie and chocolate layer-cake, you 
make some simple puddings, my dear; tapioca, rice, 
corn-starch. I guess he will eat those all right ; and 
they’ll be a lot better for him.” 

Mrs. Hull retired unconvinced, but afterwards 
forbore to predict disaster when Perry refused pie. 
Experiments with the simple desserts the Doctor 
had suggested were fairly successful. Perry referred 
to a diet-list that was pinned beside his bureau and 
relaxed to the extent of partaking sparingly of 
the puddings. 

Fudge, too, was denying himself prescribed 
dishes, although with far less philosophy than was 
displayed by his friend. Pie with Fudge was a 
passion, and cakes containing oozing jelly or soft 
icing filled his soul with beatitude. When all else 
failed, he fell back on doughnuts. To be cut off 
from these things was a woeful experience to 
Fudge. Once he had “trained” for the Football 
Team, but that training had been a very sketchy 
performance; nothing at all like the awful self- 
denial he practiced — or, at least, strove to prac- 
tice — now. 

“I don’t mind not eating starchy things,” he con- 
fided to Perry one day, “but this breaking away 

244 


ON THE TRACK 

from the table 'when the pie comes on is fierce! I 
haven’t had a hunk of pie,” he added drearily, “for 
three weeks, and there’s a place right here” — he 
laid a sympathetic hand over the third button of 
his vest — “that won’t be happy until it gets it I” 

However, to make up for the discomforts of 
dieting, he had the satisfaction of accomplishing 
Herculean stunts with the twelve-pound hammer. 
Partridge already viewed him as a probable point- 
winner, for he had nearly equaled Falkland’s best 
performance and had out-distanced Thad Brimmer 
by four feet. It was well that Partridge, and Guy 
Felker, too, dealt out praise and encouragement to 
Fudge, for the temptation to backslide in the matter 
of pie dogged him incessantly. There was one 
tragic night when he lay in bed and fought for all 
of an hour against the haunting vision of three 
raisin pies sitting side by side in the pantry down- 
stairs. What eventually vanquished temptation 
was the knowledge that if he stole down and cut 
into one of those pies his mother would know it. 
And after all the fine-sounding speeches he had 
made to her on the subject of denying one’s ap- 
petite for the sake of the School, he hadn’t the 
heart for it. 

Now that the School had “taken up” athletics it 
was a lot more fun practicing. Whereas hereto- 
245 


THE PURPLE PENNANT 


fore scarcely a dozen fellows had watched the 
performances of the Track Team, now the daily 
practice was almost as popular as baseball and 
squads of critical but enthusiastic youths stood 
about the track and applauded and urged on their 
friends. The hammer-throw was sufficiently spec- 
tacular to attract a large gallery every afternoon, 
and Pm not denying that Fudge strutted a little 
when, having tossed the weight far away across 
the field, he allowed some admiring acquaintance 
to help him on with the crimson dressing-robe he 
affected. 

Over at Springdale great things were said of the 
local Track Team, and the Springdale paper even 
now predicted victory. Guy Felker and the others 
studied that paper every day and compared what 
they learned of the Blue team’s performances with 
what they knew of their own, sometimes with sat- 
isfaction and more often with alarm. There was 
no disguising the fact that Springdale would send 
a team more than ordinarily strong in the quarter, 
half and mile events and in the jumps. The Blue 
was likely to prove weak in the sprints and hur- 
dles and at present seemed about on a par with 
the Purple in the hammer-throw and shot-put. 
Springdale’s best performer with the shot was cred- 
ited with thirty-nine feet and two inches, but Skeet 
246 


ON THE TRACK 

declared himself skeptical about that. Arthur 
Beaton spent hours at a time drawing up pre- 
dictions of the outcome of the dual meet which 
proved, to his satisfaction at least, that the Pur- 
ple would win by a good fifteen points. But Bea- 
ton was notably an optimist. 

The plan of holding a School meet was aban- 
doned owing to the small number of members, 
but, on the twenty-first of the month the entrants 
in each event were allowed to compete against 
each other and the results were posted. Skeet did 
not, however, publish times or distances, although 
they were made known to the contestants. In the 
dashes Lanny finished first with ease, Kirke get- 
ting second place in the hundred-yards and third 
in the two-twenty. Perry tied with Soper for third 
place in the short distance and finished' fourth in 
the two-twenty. Since, however, a blanket would 
have covered all the sprinters but Lanny at the 
finish of that race, fourth place was not vastly 
different from second. The time was disappoint- 
ing, but the track was soft after an all-night rain 
; and Skeet didn’t seem troubled when he snapped 
I Lanny ten and two-fifths for the hundred and 
twenty-four and three-fifths for the longer sprint. 
The high hurdles went to Lanny and Beaton fin- 
ished only three yards behind him. Peyton fell at 
247 


THE PURPLE PENNANT 

the second hurdle and was a poor third. In the 
low hurdles Lanny was swept off his feet by Pey- 
ton and had to work hard to beat out Beaton for 
the next honors. The jumps developed poor per- 
formances, but in the pole-vault Guy Felker sur- 
prised himself and everyone else by doing ten feet 
and one inch, bettering the school and the dual 
record by two and a half inches. That and Par- 
tridge's shot-put of thirty-seven feet and two 
inches were the only notable performances that 
afternoon. 

The mile run proved a good deal of a fizzle. 
Smith, considered the only dependable entrant for 
that event, had cramps and dropped out on the 
third lap, and Toll and Tupper fought it out to- 
gether, Toll finishing well in the lead in the slow 
time of six minutes and twenty seconds. Evident- 
ly the result of the mile was a foregone conclusion 
since it was well known that Springdale’s best miler 
had a record of five minutes and five seconds. The 
half-mile was a good race — Todd, Lasker and Train 
finishing in that order, the winner’s time being 
two minutes and fourteen and one-fifth seconds. 
The quarter-mile saw Todd, Sears and Cranston 
running bunched until the final fifty yards, when 
Sears forged ahead and finished with his head up 
in the fair time of fifty-four and four-fifths sec- 
248 


ON THE TRACK 

onds. In the hammer event, which wasn’t finished 
until after six o’clock, Partridge won handily with 
a best throw of one hundred and twenty-six feet 
and seven inches. Falkland was second with a 
hundred and twenty-one feet and three inches and 
Fudge was third at a hundred and eighteen feet 
and six inches. Thad Brimmer was in poor form 
and was several feet behind Fudge. 

The contests brought out many faults not dis- 
played previously, and to that extent were useful. 
Possibly, too, they served to accustom new mem- 
bers of the team to the conditions of competition. 
At any rate, the fellows enjoyed them, and the au- 
dience did too. There was one member of the 
audience who, seated in the grandstand, watched 
events with a deal of interest. This was Mr. Ad- 
dicks. As it was Saturday and work was for the 
time slack, he had treated himself to an afternoon 
off. No one paid any attention to him; few, in- 
deed, observed him; certainly neither Perry nor 
Fudge. He would have liked to have gone down 
on the field and mingled with the throngs along 
the track and about the pits, but since he was not 
a High School fellow he thought he might be 
trespassing. There was no ball game to-day to 
divide attention, for the Nine had gone off to play 
against, and, incidentally, get drubbed by Temple- 

249 


THE PURPLE PENNANT 


ton College. Mr. Addicks watched the sprints and 
hurdle events critically and found no fault with 
Lanny White’s work. Lanny, he concluded, was 
a born sprinter and hurdler and only needed better 
training to become a master of those arts. With 
the rest, though, he was far less satisfied. Indeed, 
he frowned a good deal over the running of the 
other three competitors. He didn’t remain until 
the end, but left the field after the quarter-mile 
run. He had wanted to see Fudge’s performance 
with the hammer, for Fudge had talked rather im- 
portantly of it of late, but he couldn’t see that event 
taking place anywhere and didn’t think to look out- 
side the field. On the way back to town he stopped 
in the telegraph office and made use of a telegram 
blank to write a brief note. This he dropped 
through the letter-slot in Dr. Hull’s front door, and 
Perry found it awaiting him when he got home. It 
read: 

Alkali Ike: Come and see me this evening if you 
can. If not, in the morning. Death to traitors! 

Deadwood Dick. 

Ever since he had learned of the boys’ suspicions 
regarding him, Mr. Addicks had humorously in- 
sisted on applying such picturesque aliases to them 
and himself. Fudge was “Four-Fingered Pete,’" 
250 


ON THE TRACK 

usually, although sometimes he was addressed as 
“Willie Rufus, the Boy Detective/* Perry was 
: variously “Alkali Ike,” “Doctor Watson” or “The 
Apache Kid/* Perry smiled as he read the mis- 
sive, got Fudge on the telephone and announced 
his purpose of calling on Mr. Addicks after sup- 
per and instructed Fudge to join him there, and 
then descended hungrily on the contents of the ta- 
ble. He was very full of the afternoon’s proceed- 
ings and, although he didn’t suspect it, I fancy his 
father and mother were relieved when the meal 
was over and he grabbed his cap and disap- 
peared. 

He found Mr. Addicks working at a drawing- 
table in the new room into which he had moved 
a few days before, but his host laid aside pen and 
ruler, square and compass, and took him into the 
old apartment, now a trifle more comfortable by 
reason of the acquisition of a second-hand easy- 
chair. Into this he forced Perry and took his own 
position as usual on a corner of the table. 

“I saw you run to-day,” he announced, “and I 
want to talk to you about it.” 

“Were you there?” asked Perry. “I didn’t see 
you. Why didn’t you let me know?” 

“I sat in the stand. I didn’t know whether they’d 
want me on the field.” 


251 


THE PURPLE PENNANT 

“Shucks, everyone comes on. I wish I’d known 
you were there. What — what did you tfiink of it?’ 

“The field ?” asked Mr. Addicks innocently. 

“No, I mean the — the sprinting and all.” 

“I thought that fellow White was a mighty 
clever runner, Perry. I don’t know that I ever saw 
a chap handle himself much better. Of course 
he wasn’t half trying to-day. He didn’t have to. 
I’d like to see him when he was pushed.” 

“He’s fine, Lanny is,” said Perry admiringly. 
“And Kirke is pretty good, too, didn’t you think ? 
He got second in the hundred, you know.” 

“That his name? Well, he’s not the sprinter 
White is. Is that little thin fellow your trainer? 
The fellow in the brown-and- white sweater?” 

“Yes, that’s Skeet Presser. He used to be a 
champion miler ; or maybe it was half-miler ; I for- 
get.” 

“Is he considered a good coach?” 

“Oh, yes, sir! He trains at the Y. M. C. A., 
you know.” 

Mr. Addicks smiled. “Well, that ought to be 
conclusive, Perry! But let me ask you something 
now. Who taught you how to run ?” 

“Why, he did; he and Lanny. Lanny coaches 
the sprinters sometimes.” 

“White, you mean? Well, did either of them 
252 


ON THE TRACK 

ever tell you that you ought to use your arms in 
running ?” 

“My arms? No, sir, I don’t think so. Skeet 
told me I wasn’t to let my arms get behind me.” 

“That was clever of him,” said Mr. Addicks 
dryly. “Have you ever watched your friend White 
run?” 

“Yes, lots of times.” 

“Ever notice what he does with his arms?” 

Perry hesitated. “I don’t think so, particu- 
larly.” 

“Well, you should. Look here, Perry, you’re 
not really running, my boy. You made a nice 
start to-day in the two-twenty and you used a nice 
stride when you found it, which wasn’t until you 
were pretty nearly to the tape, but you waved your 
arms all over the lot and never once used them to 
help your running. Now if you’re ever going to 
do anything in the sprints, or in the distances, 
either, you’ve got to learn how to use your arms. 
A sprinter runs with three things, Perry; his legs, 
his arms and his head. You use your legs fairly 
well, although you’re trying to get too long a stride 
for a chap with legs the length yours are; and I 
guess you’ll learn to use your head well enough 
when you’ve been in a few races; but you aren’t 
getting anything out of your arms; in fact, you’re 
253 


THE PURPLE PENNANT 
slowing yourself up, the way you’re beating the 
air with them.” Mr. Addicks slid off the table. 
“ Suppose I wave my arms like this when Pm run- 
ning. Think that’s any help to me? Not a bit, 
old scout. Get your arm action and leg action to- 
gether. Rip them forward, like this ; left leg, right 
arm, right leg, left arm. That way you’re pulling 
yourself along. But don’t just hold them out and 
paddle your hands, or trail them behind your 
hips or hug your chest with them the way one 
of you chaps did to-day. See what I mean at 
all?” 

“Yes, I think so. I never knew about that, 
though.” 

“Of course you didn’t if no one told you. Not 
one of you fellows except White ran in decent form 
to-day; and if someone would tell him not to throw 
his head back as far as he does he’d do better yet. 
What the dickens does this Skeet fellow think? 
That you kids can find out all these things without 
being told? Why, great, jumping Geewhillikins, 
there are all sorts of things to be learned if you’re 
going to be a real sprinter! It isn’t just getting off 
the mark quick and running as hard as you know 
how to the tape. There’s science in it, old scout, 
a heap of science!” 

“I suppose there is,” replied Perry a trifle de- 
254 


ON THE TRACK 

jectedly. “And I don’t suppose I’ll ever be real 
good at it.” 

“Why not? Don’t expect to be a ten-flat hun- 
dred-yard man yet, though. You’re too young and 
your legs are too short and your lungs aren’t big 
enough. For two or three years the two-twenty 
will be your best distance. You can’t hustle into 
your stride and move fast enough to compete with 
older fellows in the hundred. But, if you’ll 
realize that in the two-twenty you can’t push all the 
way, you may make a good performer. You have 
a pretty fair style, Perry. I like the way you 
throw your heels without 'dragging/ for one thing. 
But what I’ve just said about trying all the way 
through the two-twenty is so. It can’t be done; 
at least, it can’t be done by the average sprinter. 
Get your stride as soon as you can after you’re 
off the mark, then let your legs carry you a while ; 
I mean by that don’t put all your strength into the 
going; save something for the last thirty yards 
or so. Then let yourself out! Remember that 
the hundred-yards is a hustle all the way, but the 
two-twenty is just a hundred and twenty yards 
longer and the fellow who tries to win in the first 
half of the race dies at the finish. Of course, it 
all comes by trying and learning. Experience 
brings judgment, and judgment is what a sprinter 
255 


THE PURPLE PENNANT 
has to have. You’ll soon find out just about how 
much power you can spend in getting away and 
how much you can use in the first twenty seconds 
and how much you’ll need for the final spurt. Only, 
until you have learned that, play it safe and don’t 
try all the way. If you do you’ll finish tied up in 
a hard knot! See what I mean?” 

“Yes, sir, thanks.” 

“Try it and see if I’m not right.” Mr. Ad- 
dicks perched himself on the table again and 
swung a foot thoughtfully. “I wish I had the 
coaching of you for a couple of weeks,” he said. 
“I’d make a two-twenty man out of you or I miss 
my guess!” 

“I wish you had,” replied Perry wistfully. “No 
one told me all that, Mr. Addicks. Couldn’t you — 
I mean, I don’t suppose you’d have time to show 
me, would you?” 

“I’m afraid not.” Mr. Addicks shook his head. 
“I’d like to, though. I guess the trouble with this 
Skeet fellow is that he’s got so much on his hands 
he can’t give thorough attention to any one thing. 
Still, I should think he’d see that his sprinters are 
making a mess of it. White ought to savvy it, any- 
way.” He was silent a minute. Then: “Look 
here,” he said abruptly, “what time do you get up 
in the morning?” 

256 


ON THE TRACK 

“About seven, usually. Sometimes a little be- 
fore.” 

“Seven! Great Snakes, that’s halfway to sun- 
down! That the best you can do?” 

“No, sir, I could get up a lot earlier if I wanted 
to.” 

“Well, you get up a lot earlier some morning 
and we’ll go out to the track and I’ll show you 
what I’m talking about. Swallow a cup of coffee, 
or whatever it is you drink in the morning; that’s 
all you’ll need; we won’t try anything stiff. What 
do you say to that?” 

“Why,” replied Perry eagerly, “that would be 
dandy! Will you really do it, sir? When?” 

“To-morrow — no, to-morrow’s Sunday. How 
about Monday? Be outside your house at six 
and ” 

Mr. Addicks was interrupted by a knock on the 
door, and, in response to a lusty “Come in!” Fudge 
entered. 

“Ah,” exclaimed Mr. Addicks, “we have with us 
to-night Arizona Bill, the Boy Hercules!” 


CHAPTER XXII 


THE NEW COACH 

T HAT early morning session at the track 
didn’t come off on Monday because it was 
raining hard when the alarm clock which 
Perry had borrowed for the occasion buzzed fran- 
tically at a quarter to six. It had been agreed that 
should it be raining the event was to be postponed. 
So it was Tuesday when Mr. Addicks gave his 
first lesson. He was already in front of the house 
when Perry hurried out. He was enveloped from 
neck to ankles in a thread-bare brown ulster be- 
neath which he wore an old pair of running-trunks 
and a faded green shirt. 

“Thought it might do me good to take a little 
exercise while I’m out there,” he explained. “I 
haven’t had these things on for years, and wasn’t 
sure I’d kept them until I rummaged through my 
trunk. Couldn’t find my shoes, though.” Perry 
saw that he was wearing a pair of rubber-soled 
canvas “sneakers” which had probably been white 
258 


THE NEW COACH 

a long time ago. “How are you feeling? Ever 
up so early before ?” 

“A few times/’ Perry laughed. “Usually on 
the Fourth.” 

“Had anything to eat or drink?” 

“No, sir, the fire wasn’t lighted. I’m not hun- 
gry, though.” 

“Better have something inside you. We’ll stop 
at the drug store and get some hot malted-milk.” 

This they did, and then went on to the field. It 
was a fine, warm May morning, and after yes- 
terday’s showers the world looked and smelled 
fresh and fragrant. They found the gates at the 
field locked, but it was no trick at all to climb over 
the fence. Fudge had agreed to meet them there 
with his stop-watch, although Mr. Addicks had as- 
sured him that a time-trial was unthought of, but 
he was not on hand nor did he appear at all that 
morning. Later he explained that the maid had 
forgotten to call him. 

Inside, Mr. Addicks threw off his ulster and, 
while Perry got into his running togs, stretched 
his long legs and surprised his muscles by various 
contortions to which they were long unused. Perry 
was soon back and Mr. Addicks put him on his 
mark and sent him away at little more than a jog. 
“Head up,” he instructed. “Shorten your stride. 

259 


THE PURPLE PENNANT 

That's better. Don’t be afraid to use the "fiat of 
your foot. Running on your toes is too hard on 
your legs. Now swing your arms, Perry. Drive 
’em out and pull ’em back, boy! No, no, don’t 
make an effort of it. Just easy, just easy. That’s 
better.” 

Mr. Addicks trotted alongside to the turn and 
then called a halt. 

“That’s enough. Now get your breath and 
watch the way I do it. Watch my arms particu- 
larly.” 

He crouched for a start, unlike the usual sprinter 
holding but one hand to the ground. Then he 
launched forward, caught his stride almost at once 
and ran lightly back along the track, his long legs 
scarcely seeming to make any effort and his arms 
reaching forward and back, his body twisting 
slightly above the hips from side to side. It was 
pretty work, and even Perry, who had never seen 
many runners, realized that he was watching one 
who was, allowing for lack of recent practice, a 
past-master. After that he was sent off again and 
again, for short distances, at scarcely more than 
a trot until he at last solved the philosophy of the 
arm movement. He had begun to despair of ever 
getting the hang of it when, suddenly, he awoke 
to the realization that, for the first time since he 
260 


THE NEW COACH 

had been running, legs, arms and body were work- 
ing together in perfect unison ! He had the novel 
sensation of being a well-oiled machine of which 
every part was timing absolutely ! He slowed down 
at the corner and returned to his instructor with 
shining eyes, triumphant and slightly astonished. 

“I did it !” he exclaimed. “I did it then, Mr. Ad- 
dicks! Did you see me?” 

“Yes, you got it at last. Notice the difference ?” 

“Yes, indeed !” 

“Of course you do! Before you were fighting 
with yourself. Now your muscles all work to-' 
gether. Sit down a minute and rest. Then I want 
to see you start from the mark down there and 
come fairly fast to the corner. See how quickly 
you can get your stride and your form. Run easily 
to about that white mark on the rim up there and 
finish hard.” 

Because Perry feared that the others would 
think him silly, he had sworn Fudge to secrecy 
regarding the early-morning lessons, and Fudge, 
who was as communicative a youth as any in Clear- 
field but could be as close-mouthed as a sulky clam 
on occasions, kept the secret, and no one but Mr. 
Addicks, his pupil and Fudge knew until long 
after what went on at Brent Field between six and 
seven on fair mornings. Perry learned fast, part- 
261 


/THE PURPLE PENNANT 

ly because he was naturally an apt pupil and partly 
because Mr. Addicks was a patient and capable 
instructor. When a point couldn’t be made quite 
clear with words Mr. Addicks stepped onto the cin- 
ders and illustrated it, and Perry couldn’t help but 
understand. I think Mr. Addicks got as much 
pleasure, and possibly as much benefit, from the les- 
sons as Perry did. He confessed the second morn- 
ing that what little running he had done the day 
before had lamed him considerably, and declared 
his intention of getting back into trim again and 
staying there. At the end of a week he was doing 
two and three laps of the track and never feeling 
it. Fudge, who joined them occasionally, became 
ardently admiring of such running as that of Mr. 
Addicks’ and regretted that he had not gone in 
for the middle distances. “That,” he confided to 
Perry one morning, “is what I call the p-p-p-poetry 
of motion!” And he managed to make it sound 
absolutely original! 

Mr. Addicks insisted that Perry should special- 
ize on the two-hundred-and-twenty-yards dash, and 
coached him carefully over almost every foot of 
that distance, from the moment he put his spikes 
into the holes and awaited the signal, until he had 
crossed the line, arms up and head back. Perry, 
who had been complimented on his starting, dis- 
262 


THE NEW COACH 

covered to his surprise that he was very much of 
a duffer at it. Mr. Addicks made him arrange his 
holes further apart in each direction and showed 
him how to crouch with less strain on his mus- 
cles. And he showed him how to get away from 
the mark with a quicker straightening of the body, 
so that, after a week of practice, he could find his 
stride at the end of the first fifteen yards and be 
running with body straight and in form. And 
then at last one morning there came a time-trial 
over the two hundred and twenty yards and, with 
Fudge sending him away and Mr. Addicks hold- 
ing the watch at the finish, Perry put every ounce 
of power into his running and trotted back to be 
shown a dial on which the hand had been stopped 
at twenty-four and one-fifth! 

“Why — why ” stammered Perry breathless- 
ly, “that’s a fifth under the time Lanny made last 
year !” 

“That doesn’t signify much,” replied Mr. Ad- 
dicks. “This time may be a fifth of a second wrong 
one way or another. And you must remember 
that White probably made his record when he was 
tired from the hundred yards. Anyway, it’s fair 
time, Perry, and if you can do as well as that in 
the meet you’ll probably get second place at least.” 

Fudge, hurrying up to learn the result, stuttered 
263 


THE PURPLE PENNANT 


rapturously on being told. “I t-t-t-told him he’d m- 
m-m-make a p-p-peach of a s-s-s-sprinter ! D-d- 
d-didn’t ” 

“You did,” laughed Perry. “Couldn’t I try the 
hundred now, Mr. Addicks?” 

“Not to-day, son. Too much is enough. We’ll 
try that some other time. Don’t work too hard 
this afternoon, by the way. It’s easy to get stale 
at this stage of the game. And the meet is less 
than two weeks off.” 

“Gee,” sighed Fudge, “I w-w-wish you’d sh-sh- 
show me something about th-th-th-throwing the 
hammer!” 

“I would if I knew anything about it, Fudge. 
But I thought you were getting on swimmingly.” 

“Pretty fair, sir. Only Falkland keeps on beat- 
ing me by four or five feet every time. 'I wish 
I were taller, that’s what I wish ! He’s almost six 
inches taller than I am and his arms are 
longer.” 

“You might wear stilts,” Perry suggested. 

“Or put French heels on your shoes,” laughed 
Mr. Addicks. 

Fudge sighed dolefully and then brightened. 
“Anyway,” he said, “I can beat Thad! x\nd he’s 
older than I, and bigger, too.” 

“Whatever happens,” said Mr. Addicks as they 
264 


THE NEW COACH 

crossed the field, “I’ve got to see that meet, fel- 
lows !” 

“Of course/’ agreed Fudge. “Mr. Brent will let 
you off, won’t he?” 

“It isn’t Mr. Brent who has the say so,” replied 
the other with a smile. “It’s my pocketbook, 
Fudge.” 

“Oh! But I thought you were making a heap 
of money now, sir. You went and took that other 
room and — and all.” 

“That’s why I’m still poor, Four-Fingered Pete. 
Earning an honest living is hard work. Some- 
times I think I’ll go back to train-robbery.” 

“Aren’t you ever going to forget that?” wailed 
Fudge. 

Baseball was now well into mid-season. Seven 
games had been played, of which two had been 
lost, one tied and the rest won. A Second Team, 
captained by Sprague McCoy, was putting the regu- 
lars on their mettle three afternoons a week and 
was playing an occasional contest of its own with 
an outside nine. Dick Lovering was fairly well 
satisfied with his charges, although it was too early 
to predict what was to happen in the final game 
I with Springdale, nearly a month distant. The 
pitching staff was gradually coming around into 
1 shape now that warm weather had arrived. Tom 
265 


THE PURPLE PENNANT 


Haley, still first-choice box-artist, had pitched a 
no-hit game against Locust Valley and of late had 
gone well-nigh unpunished. 

The Templeton game had been somewhat of a 
jolt, to use Captain Jones’ inelegant but expressive 
phrase, inasmuch as Templeton had been looked 
on as an easy adversary, and Joe Browne, in proc- 
ess of being turned into a third-choice pitcher, 
had started in the box against them. Joe had been 
literally slaughtered in exactly two-thirds of one 
inning and had thereupon gone back to right field, 
yielding the ball to Nostrand. But Nostrand, 
while faring better, had been by no means invul- 
nerable. Even if he had held the enemy safe, 
however, Clearfield would still have been defeat- 
ed, for her hitting that day was so poor that she 
was unable to overcome the four runs which Tem- 
pleton had piled up in that luckless first inning. 
The First Team had to stand a deal of ragging 
from the Second Team fellows when they got 
back, for the Second had gone down to Lester- 
ville and won handily from a hard-hitting team 
of mill operatives who had claimed the county 
championship for several years. To be sure, the 
Second Team fellows had returned rather the 
worse for wear, Terry Carson having a black 
eye, Howard Breen a badly spiked instep and 
266 


THE NEW COACH 

McCoy a bruised knee, but still they had con- 
quered ! 

The first game with Springdale — they played a 
series for two games out of three — was scheduled 
for the fourth of June at Clearfield. The second 
contest was to be held at Springdale a week later, 
which was the date of the dual meet, and the third, 
if necessary, was to take place at Clearfield on 
the seventeenth. Just now it was on the first of 
these contests that the eyes of Dick and Captain 
Warner Jones and the players themselves were 
fixed. Dick was anxious to get that first game, 
whatever happened afterwards. In the second con- 
test Clearfield was to do without the services of 
Lanny as catcher, for Lanny was due on that day 
to stow away some thirteen or fourteen points for 
the Track Team, and while Pete Robey could be 
depended on to catch a good game, Lanny’s ab- 
sence from the line-up was bound to be felt. So 
Dick was out after that first encounter, realizing 
that with that put safely on ice he would be able 
to accept a defeat the following Saturday with a 
fair degree of philosophy. Perhaps, fortunately 
for the nine, two other members who had tried 
for the Track Team had failed, and Lanny was 
the only one who stood to make history in two 
I branches of athletics this spring. 

267 


THE PURPLE PENNANT 

Bert Cable, last year’s captain, labored indefati- 
gably and was of much assistance to Dick who, 
handicapped as he was by his infirmity, was forced 
to do most of his coaching from the bench. That C 
was an extremely busy week for the Clearfield 
High School Baseball Team, and Gordon Merrick 
confided to Lanny on Thursday that if Dick sent 
him to the batting-net the next day he would prob- 
ably go mad and bite someone. “Why, last night,” 
he said, “I dreamed that Tom and Nostrand and 
Joe Browne and two or three others were all pitch- 
ing to me at once! My arms are still lame from 
that nightmare!” 

“Well, there won’t be anything very strenuous 
to-morrow,” Lanny comforted. “In fact, you’ll 
get off easier than I shall, for I’ve got to do track 
work.” 

“You’re an idiot to try both,” said Gordon. 
“What’s going to happen to us next week, I’d like 
to know, with Robey catching.” 

“Oh, Pete will get along all right. In fact, he’s 
a mighty good catcher, Gordon.” 

“He’s all right at catching, but a child could 
steal on him. He can’t get the ball down to sec- 
ond to save his life until the runner’s brushing the 
dust from his trousers!” 

“Well, with Tom Haley pitching the runner 
268 


THE NEW COACH 

ought not to get a start off first. Tom’s the one 
who can hold ’em.” 

“Maybe, but I’ll bet you anything they steal a 
half-dozen times on us.” 

“Don’t let them get to first,” advised Lanny. 
“That’s the safest plan.” 

“Yes, safety first,” agreed the other. “How 
many races are you down for next week, Lanny?” 

“Four, sprints and hurdles. But I may not run 
them all. It depends on who qualifies. If Arthur 
and Eg Peyton get placed for the low hurdles I’ll 
probably drop out. By the way, that young Hull 
is quite a find, Gordie. I wouldn’t be surprised to 
see him get a second in the two-twenty. He’s de- 
veloping into a mighty spry youth. Runs nicely, 
too. Lots of form. Funny thing is he never tried 
the sprints until this spring.” 

“I guess Skeet is a pretty good trainer, isn’t he ?” 

“Y-yes. Yes, Skeet’s all right. The only trouble 
with Skeet is that he can’t seem to get it into his 
head that our chaps are just youngsters. He ex- 
pects them to stand a lot of hard work and then 
can’t understand why they get tired and loaf. Still, 
he’s all right, and I wouldn’t be a bit surprised if 
we won this year.” 

“Well,” Gordon laughed, “with you taking part 
in most of the stunts, I don’t see how you can 
269 


THE PURPLE PENNANT 
help it How many points are you supposed to an- 
nex, anyway ?” 

‘Thirteen or fourteen; fourteen if I’m in luck.” 

“How many do we have to have to win ? Fifty- 
something, isn’t it?” 

“Fifty-four ties. Anything more than that wins. 
Arthur has it doped out that we’re to get firsts 
in six events; both sprints, the high hurdles, the 
quarter-mile, the pole-vault and the shot-put, and 
enough seconds and thirds to give us sixty points.” 

“First place counts five and second place 
three ” 

“And third place one. I don’t remember just 
how Arthur arrives at his result, but he gets there 
somehow. It’s going to be a good meet, anyhow, 
and I’m sorry you won’t be here to see it.” 

“Maybe I shall be,” responded Gordon pessimis- 
tically, “if Dick doesn’t stop batting practice. I’ve 
only got two arms, and they won’t swing many 
more times without dropping off! I*d like to see 
you run away from those Springdale chumps, too. 
I suppose you’ll win that purple pennant the girls 
have put up.” 

“Don’t know about that. I wouldn’t object to 
having it. It’s mighty good-looking, and purple 
goes well with my complexion.” 

“Complexion!” jibed Gordon. “You haven’t 
270 


THE NEW COACH 

any more complexion than a board fence. By the 
way, did you see that they were patching the fence 
to-day ?” 

“Yes, and I hear they’re going to fix up the 
track for us a bit before the meet. Wonder where 
they’re getting the money. Last time I heard any- 
thing about it they had about sixty cents in the 
treasury.” 

“We’ve had two or three pretty fair-sized crowds 
out there so far. I dare say the Corwin game 
brought in fifty or sixty dollars.” 

“And they got a third of it. Well, I don’t care 
where the money comes from. I’m glad they’re 
going to mend the track. I’d hate to have Spring- 
dale see it the way it is.” 

“I think it’s silly to fix it. They ought to leave 
it the way it is and pray for rain. Then maybe 
some of the Springdale chaps would fall in the pud- 
dles and drown.” 

“You’ve got a mean disposition,” laughed 
Lanny. 

“I’ve got a very fine disposition,” returned Gor- 
don with dignity, “but it’s being ruined by Dick 
Lovering and batting practice. Bet you anything I 
don’t get a single hit Saturday.” 

“That’s right, don’t; make ’em all doubles! By 
the way, they’ll probably work that left-hander of 
271 


THE PURPLE PENNANT 

theirs against us in the first game. I wish we had 
more left-hand batters.” 

“That will give Breen a show, maybe. He and 
Cotner and Scott are our only port-siders, I think.” 

“Nostrand bats left-handed. If Springdale 
pitches Newton, Dick may use Nostrand instead of 
Tom Haley. I hope he doesn’t, though. Nos- 
trand’s a pretty fair pitcher, but he can’t hold them 
on the bases the way Tom can.” 

“No, and he scares me to death every time he 
pegs across. I always expect the ball to go over 
my head. He needs a lot of practice throwing to 
first.” 

“He’s a corking good fielder, though, Gordie. 
Don’t forget that. Well, here’s where I leave you. 
What are you doing this evening?” 

“Nothing special. I’ve got some chemistry work 
to make up, though. Why? Anything doing?” 

“Come on over to Morris’s. He’s fixed some 
electric lights over the tennis court and is going to 
try and play at night.” 

“Don’t remember being invited.” 

“What of it? It isn’t a party.” 

“All right, but don’t expect me to play. It’s 
too much like swinging a bat! Stop by for me.” 


CHAPTER XXIII 


OUT AT THE PLATE! 

C LEARFIELD turned out well on Saturday 
for the first Springdale game, while the 
visitors swelled the proceeds by filling most 
of one whole section behind third base. The day 
was fair but rather too cool for the players, with 
a chilly east wind blowing down the field, a wind 
that puffed up the dust from the base-paths, 
whisked bits of paper around and interfered to 
some extent with the judging of flies in the out- 
field. Springdale was in holiday mood, armed with 
a multitude of blue banners and accompanied by 
a thick sprinkling of blue-gowned young ladies 
whose enthusiasm was even more intense than that 
of their escorts. Clearfield’s cheerers had to work 
hard to equal the slogans that came down from 
that third-base stand, and Toby Sears, cheer-leader, 
was forced to many appeals before he got the re- 
sults he wanted. 

Clearfield’s line-up was the same she had pre- 
273 


THE PURPLE PENNANT 

sented in Wednesday’s game against Benton: 
Bryan, 2b.; Farrar, cf. ; Merrick, ib. ; Scott, 3b.; 
Cotner, If. ; Jones, ss. ; White, c. ; Browne, rf. ; 
Nostrand, p. Haley was expected to go to the res- 
cue if needed, and seven substitutes adorned the 
bench and hoped to get into the game. Springdale 
started with her left-hander, Newton, on the 
mound, and Newton, who was a big, lazy-looking 
but quite competent youth, disposed of Bryan, Far- 
rar and Merrick without difficulty. Neither team 
hit safely, in fact, until the last of the third, when 
Lanny managed to land a short fly just beyond 
third-baseman’s reach. But Lanny, although he 
reached second on a sacrifice bunt by Browne, 
didn’t see the plate, for Newton registered his 
third strike-out against Nostrand and caused 
Bryan to hit into second-baseman’s hands. 

In the fourth inning Springdale had a batting 
streak that lasted until she had men on third and 
second with but one out. Then Tom Nostrand 
passed the next batsman, who had a reputation 
for long hits to the outfield, and, with the bases 
filled and the blue flags waving hopefully, he struck 
out the next two opponents. The cheer that went 
up from the Clearfield stand when the last man 
turned away from the plate was undoubtedly plain- 
ly heard on the other side of town! 

274 


OUT AT THE PLATE! 

Clearfield’s inning produced plenty of thrills. 
Farrar went out, shortstop to first, but Gordon 
drove a clean safety over second and went to third 
when Scott doubled to right. Cotner did his best 
to sacrifice to the outfield, but the result was a foul 
back of first and a second put-out. The Spring- 
dale catcher made two bluff throws to second, hop- 
ing to coax Gordon to the plate, but the trick didn’t 
work. With two balls and one strike against him, 
Captain Jones refused the next delivery and had 
the satisfaction of hearing it declared a ball. Then 
Newton floated a slow one over for a second strike 
and, with the Clearfield coachers howling like wild- 
men and the Purple’s supporters shouting from the 
stands, tried to cut the outer corner of the plate. 
Warner spoiled it and the ball glanced into the 
seats. On third Gordon danced and ran back and 
forth, while Scott, halfway between third and sec- 
ond, dared a throw. Again Newton wound up and 
again he stepped forward, and the ball sailed 
straight along the groove. Gordon dashed up the 
path from third, bat and ball met and Captain 
Jones sped to first. Scott rounded the last cor- 
ner and headed for the plate just as the ball bound- 
ed into the hands of the second-baseman. The 
latter had plenty of time to peg across to first 
ahead of Warner Jones, but something, perhaps the 
275 


THE PURPLE PENNANT 

sight of the two runners flying home, made him 
hesitate for one fatal instant. When the ball did 
reach the first baseman’s impatient glove Jones 
was crossing the bag. 

Scott slid unchallenged past the plate and tallied 
the home team’s second run, and Clearfield exulted 
strenuously and waved purple flags. Two runs 
looked very large just then, but Dick wanted more 
and sent Lanny after them. Jones had instruc- 
tions to steal on the second pitch and Lanny to 
hit it out if he could. Newton drove Lanny back 
from the plate with his first delivery and it went 
for a ball. Then, after throwing twice to first to 
teach Jones discretion, he sailed a low one over. 
Lanny swung at it but missed and Jones beat out 
the throw to second by an eyelash. Clearfield 
howled its glee. That steal upset Newton and he 
allowed a pass. With men on second and first and 
Joe Browne up another tally seemed quite within 
the bounds of reason, but Newton found himself 
again and, working Browne into the hole with two 
strikes and one ball, fooled him on an outshoot 
that looked very wide of the plate. Clearfield 
shrieked disapproval of the decision, but disap- 
proval didn’t put the runners back on the bases or 
return Browne to the plate. Still, two runs were 
two runs, and, unless Springdale did a lot better 
276 


OUT AT THE PLATE! 

than she had been doing, would prove sufficient to 
win the game. 

The fourth and fifth passed uneventfully. 
Springdale worked hard and took advantage of 
everything, but luck was against her when Cotner 
ran back to the shadow of the fence in deep left 
and pulled down a long fly that might easily have 
been good for two bases. Springdale had a run- 
ner on first at the time and Cotner’s spectacular 
catch undoubtedly robbed her of a tally. After 
that Scott threw out the next batsman and 
Bryan tossed to Jones on the following play. 
In her half Clearfield got one man to first on balls, 
but watched the succeeding three retire on easy 
outs. 

It was in the sixth that Springdale began to 
look dangerous. Dick had substituted Breen for 
Joe Browne, in the hope that the former would 
take more kindly to Newton’s delivery, and it was 
Breen who was directly responsible for what hap- 
pened. Nostrand disposed of the first batsman 
easily enough, but the next man waited him out 
and finally, after popping fouls all over the place, 
secured a pass. The next man laid down a slow 
bunt toward the box and Nostrand fielded to Jones. 
The latter, however, failed to complete the double. 
The following batter hit safely past Scott and sec- 
277 


THE PURPLE PENNANT 
ond and first bases were occupied. Springdale’s 
catcher was up now and he had so far proved an 
easy victim to Nostrand’s slow ball. But this time 
the signs failed. With two strikes against him 
he managed to connect with a waister and sent it 
arching into short right field. Gordon started back, 
but it was quite evidently Breen’s ball, and Breen 
was trotting in for it. But something happened. 
Perhaps the wind caught the sphere and caused 
the fielder’s undoing. At all events, the ball went 
over Breen’s head by several feet and two runs 
crossed the plate ! 

In the ensuing dismay and confusion the bats- 
man slid safely to second. Springdale stood up and 
yelled like mad, and, after a minute of dismayed 
silence, Toby Sears managed to arouse the purple- 
decked seats to response. But the Clearfield cheer- 
ing was lacking in conviction just then! Breen, 
feeling horribly conspicuous out there in right field, 
ground his fist into the palm of his glove and 
gritted his teeth. Captain Jones’ voice came back 
to him cheerfully: 

“Never mind that, Howard! Let’s go after ’em 
hard now!” 

And go after them hard they did, and when 
Newton, the subsequent batsman, slammed the ball 
into short center Breen was there as soon as Far- 
278 


OUT AT THE PLATE! 

rar and could have fielded the ball had not Farrar 
attended to it. As it was the batsman was satis- 
fied with one base, although the runner ahead 
reached third in safety. 

Tom Haley had begun to warm up back of first 
base now. That his services would be required 
was soon evident, for Nostrand put himself in a 
hole with the next batsman and finally watched him 
walk to first and fill the bases. Then Dick nodded, 
Nostrand dropped the ball and walked out and 
Clearfield cheered lustily as Tom Haley peeled off 
his sweater. Going into the box with the bases 
full, even when there are two out, isn’t a thing to 
rejoice and be merry over, but, as Fudge confided 
to Perry just then, Tom Haley had been put to- 
gether without nerves. Tom sped some fast and 
rather wild ones in the general direction of Lanny 
while the Springdale shortstop leaned on his bat 
and watched satirically, and the Blue’s supporters 
expressed derision. But none of the Clearfield fel- 
lows were worried by Tom’s apparent wildness. 
Tom always did that when he went as a relief 
pitcher. And then he usually tied the batsman in 
knots ! 

Tom did that very thing now. He landed the 
first ball squarely across the center of the plate. 
He put the next one shoulder-high across the in- 
279 


THE PURPLE PENNANT 

ner corner, and he wasted two more in trying to 
coax the batter to reach out. Then, finding that 
the blue-stockinged one would not oblige him, he 
curved his fingers cunningly about the ball and shot 
it away and, without waiting, swung on his heel 
and walked out of the box and across the diamond, 
while Clearfield applauded hysterically and a dis- 
gruntled Springdale shortstop tossed his bat down 
and turned toward the field wondering if he had 
really hit as much too soon as it had seemed to 
him! 

The Purple went out in order in their half and 
the seventh inning, which Clearfield, according to 
time-honored custom, hailed as the “lucky seventh” 
and stood up for, passed into history without add- 
ing further tallies to the score of either team. 
Springdale went after the game savagely and suc- 
ceeded in connecting with Haley’s offers so fre- 
quently that the Clearfield supporters sat on the 
edges of their seats and writhed anxiously. But, 
although the Blue’s batsmen hit the ball, they failed 
to “put it where they ain’t,” and sharp, clean field- 
ing did the rest. For her part, the Purple did no 
better. One long fly to deep left looked good for 
a moment, but the nimble-footed player out there 
got under it without any trouble. No one reached 
first in either half of the “lucky seventh” and the 
280 


OUT AT THE PLATE! 

game went into the eighth with the score still 2 
to 2. 

When the first man had been thrown out, Haley 
to Merrick, Haley let down a mite and the Spring- 
dale right-fielder smashed out a two-bagger that 
sailed high over Bryan's head and rolled far into 
the outfield. After that Haley tightened up again 
and struck out the next candidate, and the half 
was over a few minutes later when the runner was 
caught flat-footed off second by a rattling throw- 
down by Lanny which Bryan took on the run. 

Merrick was first up in the last half of the in- 
ning and, obeying instructions, hit desperately at 
the first ball pitched, missed it to the glee of the 
Springdale “rooters” and staggered back out of the 
box. The next delivery was low and wide. The 
next one, too, was a ball. Then came a slow drop, 
and Gordon, sizing it up nicely, stepped forward 
and laid his bat gently against it. It wasn't an 
ideal ball to bunt, but Gordon managed to get his 
bat a bit over it and at the same moment start for 
first. The ball trickled but a scant six feet to 
the left of base, but the catcher overran it slightly 
and threw low to first and Gordon was safe. 

Scott tried hard to sacrifice with a bunt, but 
Newton kept them almost shoulder-high and before 
he knew it Scott was in the hole. With the score 


THE PURPLE PENNANT 

two and one Newton could afford to waste one, 
and after he had tried the patience of the crowd 
by repeated efforts to catch Gordon napping at 
first, he sent in a slow ball that Scott refused. 
Then, since the batsman had two strikes on him 
and would naturally not risk an attempt to bunt, 
Newton tried to end the agony by sending a 
straight ball waist-high over the outer comer of 
the plate. Whereupon Scott did exactly what he’d 
been told to do and laid the ball down very neatly 
halfway between plate and box and streaked to 
first. He almost made it, too, but a quick turn and 
throw by Newton beat him by a foot. Gordon, 
however, was safely on second, and Clearfield re- 
joiced loudly. 

Cotner continued the bunting game, but al- 
though he advanced Gordon to third his bunt went 
straight to the waiting third-baseman, who had 
been playing well in, and he made the second out. 
Warner Jones got a fine round of applause as he 
stepped to the bat and there were cries of “Give 
us a home-run, Cap!” “Knock the cover off it!” 
“Here’s where we score!” At third-base Gordon 
ran back and forth along the path and the coach 
shouted vociferously, but Newton refused to get 
rattled. Instead, to the deep disgust of the Clear- 
field adherents, he pitched four wide balls and 
282 


OUT AT THE PLATE! 

Warner, tossing aside his bat, walked resentfully 
to first. Clearfield loudly censured the pitcher, im- 
politely intimating that he was afraid, but Newton 
only smiled and gave his attention to Lanny. Four 
more pitch-outs and Lanny, too, walked, filling the 
bases and eliciting derisive and disappointed howls 
from the Purple. 

Breen was next at bat and, since in spite of being 
a left-hander, he had so far failed to solve the 
Springdale pitcher, the audience expected that Dick 
would pull him out and substitute a pinch-hitter — 
probably McCoy or Lewis. But, after a momen- 
tary stir at the bench and a quick consultation be- 
tween Dick and Haley, Breen advanced to the plate, 
bat in hand. Knowing ones in the stands shook 
their heads and grumbled, and Fudge emphatically 
condemned proceedings and became very pessimis- 
tic. Perry, daring to hint that perhaps, after all, 
Dick Lovering had some good reason for allowing 
Breen to bat, was silenced by exactly four perfectly 
good arguments against such a possibility. By 
which time Howard Breen had a ball and a strike 
on him, the coachers were jumping and shrieking 
and the purple flags were waving madly while sev- 
eral hundred voices roared out a bedlam of sound. 
For it was now or never, in the belief of most, 
and a safe hit was needed very, very badly! 

283 


THE PURPLE PENNANT 

Breen faced Fortune calmly. Perhaps that mis- 
judgement in right-field — it couldn’t be scored as an 
error, but that didn’t take any of the sting out of 
it for Howard — had put him on his mettle and en- 
dowed him with a desperate determination to make 
atonement. And possibly Dick Lovering was count- 
ing on that very thing. At all events Breen came 
through! With one strike and two balls against 
him, Breen picked out a wide curve and got it on 
the middle of his bat. It was a lucky hit, but it did 
the business. It started over Newton’s head, went 
up and up, curved toward the foul-line and finally 
landed just out of reach of first- and second-base- 
men a foot inside the white mark! 

And when second-baseman scooped it up Breen 
was racing across the bag, Gordon had tallied and 
Warner Jones was just sliding into the plate. 

For the succeeding three minutes pandemonium 
reigned. Purple banners whipped the air, new 
straw hats were subjected to outrageous treatment 
and caps sailed gloriously into space. At first- 
base Bryan was hugging Breen ecstatically and 
midway between the plate and the pitcher’s box a 
half-dozen Springdale players were holding a rue- 
ful conference. When comparative quiet had re- 
turned, and after Fudge had saved his face by 
carefully explaining that Breen’s hit had been the 
284 


OUT AT THE PLATE! 

luckiest fluke that he, Fudge, had ever witnessed 
in a long and eventful life, the game went on. 

Newton for the first time showed nerves. Haley, 
who was only an average batter at the best, was 
sent to first after five deliveries. The Clearfield 
cheering, momentarily stilled, broke forth with re- 
newed vehemence. It was Bryan’s turn at bat. 
Bryan stood disdainfully inert while two bad ones 
passed him, and then Springdale’s relief pitcher, 
who had been warming up off and on for the last 
four innings, took the helm and Newton, who had 
pitched a remarkable game up to the eighth inning, 
retired to the bench. 

The new twirler, Crowell, was a right-hander and 
was regarded as slightly better than Newton. He 
took his time about starting to work, but when he 
finally began he finished the performance neatly 
enough, causing Bryan to swing at two very poor 
offerings and then sneaking a fast one over for the 
third strike. 

Springdale ought to have realized then and there 
that she was beaten. Everyone else did, and there 
ensued the beginning of an exodus from the stands. 
But those who were on their way out three min- 
utes after the ninth inning began either scuttled 
back to their seats or sought places along the side 
of the field. 


285 


THE PURPLE PENNANT 

The new pitcher had done the unexpected. Far 
out in the field Farrar and Cotner were chasing 
back after the rolling ball. Crowell had landed 
squarely on Haley’s first pitch and driven it whiz- 
zing past the surprised Captain Jones for three 
bases! Tom Haley looked about as astounded as 
he ever allowed himself to look as he walked to 
the box after backing up Lanny. With none out 
and a runner on third, victory looked less certain 
for the Purple. Springdale’s “rooters” yelled wild- 
ly and triumphantly and Springdale’s coachers 
leaped about like insane acrobats and volleyed all 
sorts of advice to the lone runner, most of it in- 
tended for the pitcher’s ears. 

“It’s a cinch, Johnny! You can walk home in a 
minute! He’s up in the air like a kite! There’s 
nothing to it, old man, there’s nothing to it! 
Here’s where we roll ’em up! Watch us score! 
Hi! Hi! Look at that for a rotten pitch! His 
arm’s broken in two places! Just tap it, Hughie, 
just tap it! He’s all gone now, old man! He 
hasn’t a thing but his glove ! Come on now ! Let’s 
have it ! Right down the alley, Hughie ! Pick your 
place and let her go!” 

But Hughie struck out, in spite of all the advice 
and encouragement supplied him, also the next 
man up, and Clearfield began to breathe a bit easier. 

286 



Lanny, dropping to his knees on the plate, got it a foot from the ground 





OUT AT THE PLATE! 

But the trouble was by no means over, for an in- 
shoot landed against the ribs of the next batsman 
and he ambled to first, solicitously rubbing his side 
and grinning at Tom Haley. 

“Sorry, ” called Tom. 

‘Til bet you are!” was the response. 

Springdale’s center-fielder, second man on her 
batting list, waited until the runner on first had 
taken second unchallenged and then lifted a fly to 
Breen. The latter got it without altering his posi- 
tion and pegged to the plate, but Crowell beat out 
the throw by a yard and the score was 4 to 3. On 
the throw-in the batsman went to second and with 
two out and two on bases the infield spread out 
again. There was some delay while Springdale 
selected a pinch-hitter, and then, when he had 
rubbed his hands in the dirt, rubbed the dirt off on 
his trousers, gripped his bat and fixed his feet 
firmly to' earth, all with the grim, determined air 
of an eleventh-hour hero, Lanny stepped to one side 
of the plate and Tom Haley tossed him four wide 
ones! 

It was the Blue’s turn to howl derisively and the 
Blue did it. And the Purple shouted derisively 
back. So much, you see, depends on the point of 
view! The bases were filled now and a hit would 
not only tie the score but add a second tally to 
287 


THE PURPLE PENNANT 

Springdale’s column. But neither Lanny nor 
Haley appeared worried, not even when the next 
batsman appeared in the person of the Blue’s cap- 
tain and third-baseman. Still, Tom worked a bit 
more deliberately than usual, studied Lanny’s sig- 
nals thoughtfully, seemed bent on consuming as 
much time as possible. The Blue’s captain swayed 
his bat back and forth and strove to restrain his 
impatience, but that he was impatient was proved 
when Tom’s first delivery, a ball that Lanny picked 
almost out of the dirt, fooled him into offering at 
it. Clearfield shouted joyfully as the bat swept 
harmlessly above the ball and the men on bases 
scuttled back. The batsman grew cautious then 
and let the next two deliveries pass unheeded, 
guessing them correctly. The noise which had been 
for some minutes loud and unceasing dwindled to 
silence as Tom nodded a reply to Lanny’s signal, 
wound up and lurched forward. The Springdale 
captain expected a good one and recognized it 
when he saw it. Bat and ball met sharply and he 
raced down the first base path. 

Cries filled the air, the bases emptied. The ball, 
smashed directly at Tom Haley, bounded out of 
his glove and rolled back toward the third base 
line. Tom, momentarily confused, sprang after it, 
scooped it up from almost under the feet of the 
288 


OUT AT THE PLATE! 

speeding runner from third and, without a mo- 
ment's indecision, hurled it to Lanny. And Lanny, 
dropping to his knees on the plate, got it a foot 
from the ground just as the spiked shoes of the 
runner shot into him. Catcher and runner, blue 
stockings and purple, became confusedly mixed up 
for a moment, and then Clearfield, seeing the um- 
pire's arm swing backward over his shoulder, burst 
into triumph and flowed onto the field! 


CHAPTER XXIV 


CLEARFIELD CONCEDES THE MEET 

B UT Clearfield paid dearly for that victory. 

Late Sunday afternoon four dejected 
youths sat in the library at Guy Felker’s 
house and waited for the report of Skeet Presser, 
who had just joined them. Skeet, having stuffed 
his cloth cap into his pocket, seated himself and 
smiled about him, but the smile was a dispirited 
effort. 

“Did you see him? ,, asked Guy. 

“Yes, I saw him. Just came from there. He’s 
in bad shape, Cap. He’s got two cuts just above 
his left knee as long as my finger and pretty nearly 
to the bone. Ugly wounds they are, the doctor 
says. I didn’t see them. He’s all bandaged up. 
Anyway, he’s out of it, Guy.” 

There was a moment’s silence. Then: 

“Can’t run at all, you think?” 

“Run! Great Caesar’s Ghost, how could any 
fellow run with a knee like that? He’ll be lucky 
290 




CLEARFIELD CONCEDES THE MEET 

if he’s able to catch two weeks from now, I 
guess.” 

“Catch!” said Guy bitterly. “Confound his 
catching! If he hadn’t insisted on doing that he 
wouldn’t have been hurt. It’s a nice outlook for the 
Track Team, isn’t it? We’ve got about as much 
chance to win Saturday as we have of going skat- 
ing!” 

The coach nodded. “That’s right,” he agreed. 
“Lanny was good for thirteen points anyway. 
Well, I don’t know. Only thing we can do now is 
make the best showing possible and ” 

“We’re not beaten yet,” said Harry Partridge. 
“Kirke’s nearly as fast as Lanny in the sprints, 
isn’t he?” 

“Nearly, yes,” replied Skeet. “But that’s not 
good enough. Springdale’s got fellows nearly as 
fast, too. For that matter, that youngster Hull 
has been doing some fast work. We may win a 
first in one of the sprints ; I’m not saying we can’t. 
It’s the hurdles that worry me most. Lanny was 
down for both and he’d have run them both if 
we’d needed him. With Lanny out we’ve got only 
Beaton here and Peyton. I’m not throwing off on 
you, Beaton, but you’ll have to dig to beat out 
Springdale’s best man.” 

“I know,” answered the manager, “but, lock 
291 


THE PURPLE PENNANT 

here, Skeet, if we can win one first in the sprints 
and get, say, six points out of the hurdles ” 

“Oh, don’t be an ass, Arthur,” interrupted Guy 
crossly. “You can figure until you get writer’s 
cramp, but that doesn’t alter the fact that we’re 
dished. As Skeet says, the only thing we can do 
is to make Springdale work hard for the meet. 
It’s perfectly rotten luck!” 

There was another brief silence. Then Toby 
Sears asked : “How did Lanny get hurt, anyway ? 
I didn’t see it. I was so excited ” 

“Blocked off that runner of theirs at the plate. 
Someone hit a fierce liner at Haley and he knocked 
it down and it rolled over toward third base line. 
When he got it it was too late to peg to first and he 
chucked it to Lanny about a half-second before the 
runner got there. Lanny dropped to the plate and 
the runner slid feet-first into him and his spikes 
ripped right across Lanny’s knee. It was a mighty 
pretty piece of blocking, but he ought never to have 
taken such a chance.” And Partridge shook his 
head dismally. 

“It wouldn’t have hurt anything if they’d taken 
that old game,” said Guy bitterly. “They had two 
more to play.” 

“Seems to me,” said Sears, “it would be a good 
plan to keep quiet about Lanny’s trouble. There’s 
292 


CLEARFIELD CONCEDES THE MEET 

no use in letting Springdale know he can’t run, is 
there?” 

“I don’t see that it matters much whether they 
know or don’t know,” said Guy. ‘They’ll find it 
out Saturday.” 

“No, Sears is right,” said Skeet thoughtfully. 
“We’ll keep it dark. It may disarrange their plans 
if they find at the last moment that he isn’t entered. 
Did their ball-players know he was hurt badly?” 

“No,” answered Beaton, “I don’t think so. 
Lanny walked to the bench pretty well. A lot of 
fellows were with him and I don’t believe Spring- 
dale noticed anything.” 

“Then we’ll say nothing about it,” said Skeet. 
“The doctor told me he’d be around in a couple 
of days and Lanny says he’ll come out and do all 
he can for us in the way of coaching. I’m going 
to get him to take the hurdlers in hand.” 

“How does Lanny take it?” asked Harry Par- 
tridge. 

“Not very well just yet. Rather broken-up 
about it. He told me he would rather have won 
the sprints than played ball. I wish he’d thought 
of that before. Still, I don’t suppose we can ex- 
pect the ball team to give up the only first-class 
catcher they’ve got to oblige us.” 

“Maybe,” observed Toby Sears, “it’s a waste of 
293 


THE PURPLE PENNANT 


time, fellows, but let’s go over the list again and 
see if we can figure out a win.” 

“Figure all you like,” said the coach as he got 
up. “I’ve got to be going, fellows. But when 
you’re through figuring just remember that no meet 
was ever won with a lead pencil. If you want to 
win Saturday just make up your minds that you’re 
going to go out there and do about twenty per cent, 
better than you ever have done. That’s the only 
way you’ll win. See you later.” 

So well was the secret of Lanny’s injury kept 
that few knew of it until his appearance at the field 
on Tuesday. It had been known that Lanny had 
been spiked in blocking the plate, but it was not 
supposed that he had been seriously hurt, and the 
sight of him swinging a stiff left leg about with the 
aid of a crutch came as a big surprise. Even then, 
however, Lanny laughingly denied that he was 
badly injured. “Just a couple of scratches,” he 
said, “but they make my leg sort of stiff while 
they’re healing. And I don’t want to take any 
chances, you know.” 

That sounded all right, but by Thursday the 
truth somehow got out and the school in general, 
by this time quite enthusiastic over the dual meet, 
discussed it with dismay and disappointment. 
With Lanny out of the meet Clearfield had, they 
294 


CLEARFIELD CONCEDES THE MEET 

decided, absolutely no chance of victory, and fel- 
lows who had intended to remain at home and view 
Springdale’s defeat on cinders and turf now de- 
cided to accompany the baseball team on Saturday. 
“No good staying around here and seeing Spring- 
dale lick the stuffing out of us. Let’s go over there 
and root for the Nine.” 

Fudge was one who predicted overwhelming de- 
feat for the Purple. He figured it out for Mr. Ad- 
dicks and Perry one day and proved conclusively 
that the best possible score for Clearfield was thirty- 
two points. “And that,” explained Fudge, “means 
that we’ll have to get eight points in the hammer- 
throw.” 

“Maybe,” said Perry, “we’ll make a better show- 
ing than we expect, Fudge. Mander almost equaled 
Felker’s record at the pole-vault yesterday.” 

“That’s all right,” replied Fudge firmly. “I’ve 
allowed us six points in the pole-vault. We’re go- 
ing to get licked good and hard. I’m sorry for 
Guy Felker, too. He’s worked pretty hard ever 
since last year. Remember how he got fellows out 
in the fall and made them work? Everyone 
laughed at him then, but if it wasn’t for Lanny 
getting hurt Guy would have shown them some- 
thing. We’d have won easily if the meet had been 
last Saturday instead of next.” 

295 


THE PURPLE PENNANT 


“I’ve seen it happen more than once,” observed 
Mr. Addicks, “that a team with a heavy handicap 
has gone in and won. Seems like knowing you’ve 
got to work helps a heap sometimes. Don’t give 
in yet, Fudge.” 

The last work for the Track Team came Thurs- 
day. There had been time-trials for the runners 
Monday and some pretty strenuous work for all 
hands on Wednesday, but Thursday’s practice was 
little more than a warming up. Mr. Addicks, how- 
ever, wasn’t in favor of letting down too soon, 
and on Friday morning Perry was out on the track 
as usual and was put through his paces quite as 
vigorously as on any other morning. On Friday 
afternoon the track men went for a short run across 
country and that ended the season’s work. 

While Clearfield still looked for a defeat on the 
morrow, it no longer conceded the meet to Spring- 
dale by any overwhelming majority of points, and 
there were others beside Arthur Beaton who even 
dared hope for a victory by a narrow margin. 
Captain Felker, however, was not one of these. 
Guy faced the inevitable grimly, determined to at 
least make a good showing. Lanny worked hard 
with the coaching and under his tuition the two 
hurdlers,- Beaton and Peyton, showed improvement 
by Thursday. So far no inkling had reached 
296 


CLEARFIELD CONCEDES THE MEET 

Springdale of Lanny’s trouble and his name had 
been included in the list of Clearfield entrants 
which was sent to Springdale three days before the 
meet. Springdale’s list included thirty-one names 
and she had entered at least four fellows in each 
event. For the sprints and hurdles the number 
was six. Guy shook his head dismally over that 
list. 

Saturday morning Perry slept late for the first 
time in many days, and after breakfast went over 
to Mr. Addicks’ rooms and listened to final instruc- 
tions. He was a little bit jumpy to-day. When 
Mr. Addicks had delivered the last of his advice 
he suggested that Perry accompany him across the 
river and watch him work. “The walk will do 
you good,” he said. “If you get bored you can 
come back whenever you like.” 

Fudge came in before they got started and went 
along. Fudge was about as nervous as a block of 
wood. He was very full of the impending affair 
but quite untroubled. The only thing that seemed 
to really matter to Fudge was his chance of beating 
Falkland in the hammer-throw. Whether he out- 
tossed the Springdale fellows apparently failed to 
bother him. The boys remained with Mr. Ad- 
dicks until the middle of the morning, and then, 
extracting a promise from him that he would at- 
297 


THE PURPLE PENNANT 

tend the meet, they returned across the river and, a 
little later, witnessed the departure of the ball team 
for Springdale, doing their share of the cheering 
as the special trolley-car moved away from the 
Square. After all, only a small number of fellows 
accompanied the Nine, most of them, for one rea- 
son or another, deciding to stand by the Track 
Team. Dinner was early to-day and Perry was 
far from hungry. But Fudge, who had accepted 
Mrs. Hull’s invitation, did full justice to the 
viands, as observed wonderingly and rather en- 
viously by his host. 

The program was to start at two-thirty and long 
before that the two boys were dressed and wait- 
ing. The day was fair and hot, unseasonably hot 
for so early in June. By a little after two the 
stands were already well sprinkled with spectators. 
The Springdale team was late in arriving and it 
was almost twenty minutes to three when the en- 
trants in the hundred-yards-dash were summoned 
to the starting line. Perry, who had been restlessly 
circulating about the field for a half-hour, fol- 
lowed the others with his heart thumping uncom- 
fortably. It suddenly occurred to him that he was 
about to take part in his first real race, and that 
his effort was to be witnessed by nearly a thou- 
sand persons. He looked across the field and down 
298 


CLEARFIELD CONCEDES THE MEET 


it to the crowded stands, where purple and blue 
pennants made spots of color in the hot sunlight, 
and for a moment wished himself far away. Then 
the names were being called for the first heat and he 
forgot the watchers. To his relief, he was not 
summoned. Neither was Lanny. Kirke and Soper 
were on the track with three Springdale runners 
when the whistle was blown. There was a minute 
of silence. Then the starter’s voice sounded crisply. 
“Ready! . . . Set! . . ” 
k The pistol barked. 


CHAPTER XXV 


SPRINGDALE LEADS 


/>0 it. , Kirke!” 

IT Perry turned to find Lanny at his elbow, 
Lanny enveloped in a brown bath-robe and 
minus his crutch. Then the shouts of the crowd 
at the finish drew Perry’s gaze down the track 
again as the flying figures crossed the line. From 
back there it was hard to say who had been placed, 
but presently, as the sprinters returned, Lanny hur- 
ried stiffly to meet Kirke. 

“All right, Orson?” called Lanny. Kirke shook 
his head, smiling and panting. 

“I’m out,” he answered. “Soper’s placed, 
though. I was fourth.” 

“Hard luck,” said Lanny. “You’ll make it in 
the two-twenty, though.” He returned to where 
Perry was standing. “Funny that Kirke let Soper 
beat him,” he said. “He’s been finishing ahead of 
Soper right along, hasn’t he?” 

“Yes, but I think Kirke’ s better in the two- 
twenty. Are you going to run, Lanny?” 

300 


SPRINGDALE LEADS 

Lanny pursed his mouth grimly. “I don’t be- 
lieve it will be running, but I’m going to start just 
for fun.” 

“But won’t it hurt your leg?” asked Perry anx- 
iously. 

“Doc says so, but he’s an old granny. I won’t 
be able to finish, I guess, but I hate not to have a 
shot at it.” 

“Griner!” called the Clerk of the Course^ 
“Stratton! Stratton?” 

“Withdrawn,” someone answered. The Clerk’s 
pencil went through the name. 

“White?” 

“Here,” replied Lanny as he took his place. 

“Powers?” 

“All right, sir.” 

“Hill?” 

“That should be Hull, sir,” said Lanny. 

“Hull?” 

“Here, sir,” replied Perry, joining the others. 

“That’s all, then, Mr. Starter. Only four.” 

“Are you all ready, boys?” asked the starter. 
“On your marks! Hold on there, Number 7! 
Don’t try that or you’ll get set back. On your 
marks! . . . Set! . . .” 

The pistol banged and the four jumped away. 
Perry, on the outer side of the straightaway, was in 
301 


THE PURPLE PENNANT 
his stride the first of the three and, halfway down 
the track, shot a side-long look at the others. Lanny 
was not in sight, but the nearer Springdale youth 
was a yard or so behind and the further one run- 
ning about even. As the first three were to be 
placed, Perry slowed up and took it easy, finishing 
a close third. Half way down the track Lanny was 
being helped over the strings to the turf. Perry, 
turning back, heard a timer say laughingly : “Fast 
time, Jim; ten and four-fifths!” Lanny was seated 
on the turf ruefully holding his injured knee when 
Perry reached him. 

“Pm sorry, Lanny,” he said. “Did you fall?” 

“No, I just found I couldn’t do it, Perry. How’s 
the track?” 

“Fine! Say, I wish Kirke had got placed. 
They’ve got four to our two in the final.” 

“Never mind, you or Soper will get a first. 
Those chaps aren’t fast. Give me a pull up, will 
you?” 

Perry got back into his dressing-gown and joined 
the throng across the field, at the finish of the 440- 
yards. Sears, Todd and Cranston lined up for the 
Purple in the quarter-mile and Springdale placed 
five runners at the mark, amongst them Davis, the 
Blue’s captain. It was Davis who took the lead at 
the end of the first hundred yards and, although 
302 


SPRINGDALE LEADS 

hard-pressed by Toby Sears and a second Spring- 
dale runner, kept it to the tape. At the turn Davis 
was two yards to the good and Sears was leading 
the third man by a scant two feet. Todd was in 
fifth place and the other Clearfield entrant in sev- 
enth. At the beginning of the stretch Sears gained 
half the distance separating him from Davis, and 
until well down the track it looked as if he might 
get the lead. Davis, however, had plenty of re- 
serve and forty yards from the finish it was evi- 
dent that Sears had shot his bolt. Davis finished 
first by three yards and a second Springdale runner 
ousted Sears from second place almost at the tape. 
Springdale had made a good start with eight points 
to Clearfield’s one, and the Blue’s adherents cheered 
approvingly. 

The high hurdles followed and again Spring- 
dale triumphed, getting first and third place. Bea- 
ton finished second but was disqualified for upset- 
ting too many hurdles, and Peyton got the honor. 
The time was eighteen seconds flat and bettered the 
dual meet record by a fifth of a second. 

In the final of the ioo-yards dash Perry and 
Soper were opposed to four wearers of the blue. 
Perry, digging his holes, tried to recall all the 
good advice Mr. Addicks had given him, but 
couldn’t remember much of anything. His heart 
303 


THE PURPLE PENNANT 

was beating very fast, and he was as nearly fright- 
ened as he had been for a long time. He looked 
over at Soper, who had drawn the inside lane, and 
saw that even that more experienced runner was 
plainly nervous. Then the starter’s voice came and 
Perry settled his toes in the holes, crouched and 
waited. 

“Set!” 

Some over-anxious Springdale sprinter leaped 
away and it had all to be gone through with again. 
But at last the pistol sounded and Perry, without 
knowing just how he had got there, found himself 
well down the track, his legs flying, his arms pump- 
ing up and forward and down and back, his lungs 
working like a pair of bellows and the cries and 
exhortations of the spectators in his ears. A youth 
with blue stripes down the seams of his fluttering 
trunks was a good yard in the lead and Perry, with 
three others, next. Someone, and Perry silently 
hoped it wasn’t Soper, was no longer in sight. 
Perry put the last gasp of breath and last ounce of 
strength into the final twenty yards in a desperate 
effort to overtake that Springdale runner, but it 
wasn’t until they were almost at the tape that he 
knew he had gone ahead, and then, as he threw 
his arms up, a third white-clad figure flashed past! 

A half-minute later Perry learned that Soper had 
304 


SPRINGDALE LEADS 

won and that he had finished in second place by a 
scant two feet. Soper’s time was ten and a fifth. 
Perry had feared that the form which had flashed 
to the front at the tape had been that of a Spring- 
dale runner and was so relieved that it didn’t oc- 
cur to him until some time later to either regret 
that he had not finished in first place or congratu- 
late himself on capturing second. But Guy Felker, 
after hugging Soper, almost wrung Perry’s hand 
off. 

“That was bully!” he repeated over and over. 
“That was bully ! We get eight out of it and didn’t 
count on more than four! You’re all right, Hull! 
Better rest up now, boy. Remember the two- 
twenty’s coming. Hello, Lanny! What do you 
say to that? Wasn’t it bully?” 

Perry received Lanny’s praise and, rather embar- 
rassed, went back for his robe. He wondered if 
Mr. Addicks had seen him, and he tried to catch 
sight of that gentleman in the audience. But half 
the folks were still standing on their feet and shout- 
ing and it was no use. He wished Mr. Addicks 
might have been down here on the field to-day. 
As he passed the blackboard a boy was writing the 
new figures down. 

“Clearfield, 12; Springdale, 15,” was the an- 
nouncement. 


305 


THE PURPLE PENNANT 

He tried to figure out how that could be, but was 
far too excited. When he had wrapped his robe 
around him he went back to the dressing-room for 
a rub, crossing the track just ahead of the half- 
milers who were coming around the turn. He 
stopped and watched them pass. Todd was run- 
ning in third place, hugging the rim closely, and 
Lasker was on his heels. Train was one of a bunch 
of four who trailed a couple of yards back. Spring- 
dale had entered five men to Clearfield’s three. 
Perry missed the finish of the half-mile, but Beaton 
brought the news into the dressing-room presently. 
Only Lasker had been placed, winning second. 
Linn of Springdale had finished first by nearly 
thirty yards in two minutes, eight and two-fifths 
seconds. Todd had been in the lead for the whole 
of the third lap but hadn’t been able to keep it. He 
and Train had been a half-lap behind at the end. 

“What’s the score now, Arthur?” asked some- 
one. 

Beaton shook his head wryly. “Springdale’s 
about twenty-one, I think, to our fifteen. We’ve 
got to begin and do something pretty soon. Guy’s 
got first in the high-jump cinched, though. They’re 
almost through.” 

“How’s the shot-put getting on?” Perry asked. 

“Not finished yet,” replied Beaton. “I guess 
306 


SPRINGDALE LEADS 

they’ve got it, though.” He hurried out in re- 
sponse to imperative requests for low hurdlers, and 
Perry followed presently. The 220-yards-hurdle 
trials had brought out seven entrants and so two 
preliminary dashes were necessary. Fortunately, 
perhaps, the two Clearfield candidates, Beaton and 
Peyton, were not drawn for the same trial. As a 
result Peyton easily won in his event from three 
Springdale fellows and Arthur Beaton finished sec- 
ond without hurrying in the next trial. Then the 
hurdles were quickly lifted aside and the milers be- 
gan to assemble at the starting point. 

Springdale had been conceded this event two 
weeks ago, but in his last time-trial Smith, of Clear- 
i eld, had gone over the course in the commendable 
time of five minutes and six and two-fifths sec- 
onds and the Purple was entertaining a secret hope 
that Smith might somehow prove too good for the 
Blue’s crack runner. Eight fellows started, three 
for Clearfield and five for Springdale. The policy 
of the latter school was evidently to start as many 
fellows in each event as possible on the chance of 
displacing a Clearfield entrant. In the present case 
it was speedily apparent that at least two of Spring- 
dale’s milers were not expected to finish. 

At the end of the first of the four laps the race 
had settled into two divisions — Smith, Toll and 
397 


THE PURPLE PENNANT 

Tupper, wearers of the purple C, running well 
ahead with an equal number of Springdale fellows, 
and the other two of the Blue’s force lagging a 
hundred yards behind. Wallace, the Springdale 
hope, was allowing one of his teammates to set the 
pace and was right on his heels. Two feet behind 
him trotted Smith, followed by Tupper, a third 
Springdale runner, and Toll. The six were hug- 
ging the rim and watching each other craftily. In 
that order they passed around the first turn. Then 
Toll began to go ahead and the challenge was ac- 
cepted by the third Springdale man. Toll finally 
ran even with Wallace in the backstretch and c# 
the next turn dropped into the lead. 

The half-distance found daylight between Wal- 
lace and Smith, and the former pace-maker fell 
back into fourth place. At the turn Toll began ; 
to hit it up. Wallace sped close behind him. Smith ] 
came next, some four yards back. Strung out be- j 
hind Smith were a second blue runner, Tupper, 
and, dropping back every moment, the last Spring- j 
dale runner. In that order they came down the 
straightaway, passed the mark and went doggedly 
on, to the ringing of the gong announcing the last- 
lap. The stands were shouting confusedly. The 
leaders passed the two lagging Springdale runners . 
before the turn was begun. As Toll led the way 
308 


SPRINGDALE LEADS 

into the backstretch it was evident that he was 
about done for and a rod or two further along 
Smith fairly leaped into the lead, taking Wallace 
by surprise. But the three or four yards which he 
gained were quickly cut down. Tupper closed in 
on Wallace but could not pass him, and as the next 
turn was reached began to fall back. 

Smith, with Wallace close on his heels, entered 
the straightaway, running desperately. Behind 
him, some ten yards back, came a second Spring- 
dale man, and, twenty yards or so behind him, Tup- 
per and a third wearer of the blue were fighting it 
out. For a moment it seemed that Smith might 
win, but fifty yards from the tape Wallace un- 
corked a sprint that swept him past Smith and well 
into the lead, while the next Springdale runner, 
head back, challenged Smith for second place and 
slowly closed up the distance between them. Wal- 
lace crossed a good six yards ahead and Smith, run- 
ning now on pure nerve, saw the second blue ad- 
versary edge past him a few feet from the line. 

Smith staggered as he crossed and fell limply 
into the outstretched arms of Skeet. Tupper fin- 
ished fourth, almost as exhausted, and the others 
trailed in one by one. The pace had been a fast 
one, the winner’s time being caught at five min- 
utes, five and one-fifth seconds, and Smith, finish- 
309 


THE PURPLE PENNANT 

ing third, had run the distance well under his best 
record. 

By that time the result of the high-jump was 
being announced, and Clearfield had won first place 
and halved third. Felker had cleared the bar at 
five feet and six inches, a Springdale jumper had 
secured second place with five feet and five and a 
half inches and Todd had tied with a Springdale 
fellow at five-feet-four. A moment later the fig- 
ures showing the score were changed again. With 
just half the events decided, Clearfield had 21% 
points and Springdale 32 y 2 . 


CHAPTER XXVI 


THE PURPLE PENNANT 

I T was getting well along toward five o'clock 
and the sun was sending slanting rays down 
Brent Field. The two-twenty-dash trials had 
been run and the final in the low hurdles was just 
over. In the former Perry, Kirke and Soper had 
all won places and in the latter Beaton and Peyton 
had finished first and second and added eight more 
points to the Clearfield score. The broad- jump 
and shot-put, too, were over and the Blue had won 
first and third places in the former and first place 
in the latter. Partridge had been a good second 
in the weight event and Brimmer a poor third. In 
the broad-jump Toby Sears had captured three 
points. Only the pole-vault, the two-twenty-dash 
and the hammer-throw remained and the score 
stood: Clearfield, 36^ ; Springdale, 44^2. 

A moment ago the result of the ball game at 
Springdale had come over the wire and had been 
announced, and Clearfield was feeling somewhat 
3ii 


THE PURPLE PENNANT 

dejected. Springdale had won, 8 to 2. That and 
the dismal outlook here at the field had caused the 
purple banners to droop on their staffs. But there 
was one purple flag that still flaunted itself bravely 
in the lengthening rays of sunlight. It hung from 
the railing of the stand on the third base side of the 
field, a handsome pennant of royal purple with a 
wreath of green laurel leaves on it enclosing the 
letters “C. H. S.” Behind it sat Louise Brent and 
a bevy of her companions. The girls were in a 
quandary. Already several Track Team heroes 
were tied in the number of points gained by them 
and the task of awarding the pennant promised to 
be an extremely difficult one. If Guy Felker won 
the pole-vault, which was possible at the present 
stage, the matter would be simplified, for he would 
then have ten points to his credit, two more than 
anyone else. The girls discussed the difficulty and 
referred again and again to the score that Louise 
was keeping, but without finding a way out of the 
quandary. 

“There’s just one thing to do,” said Dick Lover- 
ing’s sister, Grace, finally. “It was understood that 
the pennant was to go to the boy doing the most 
for the school, wasn’t it?” 

The others assented doubtfully. “I suppose that 
was what was meant,” said Louise, “but I thought 
312 


THE PURPLE PENNANT 

we could give it to someone who had made more 
points than anyone else and that it would be all 
quite simple. But with three and maybe four fel- 
lows making eight ” 

“That’s just it,” said Grace. “We can’t ask 
them to toss up for it or draw lots, can we? So 
the best thing to do is to decide after it’s all over 
which of them really did the best.” 

“But how can we decide that ?” asked May Burn- 
ham. “How are we to know which did the best?” 

“We can,” replied Grace convincedly. “Guy and 
the others will know if we don’t.” 

“Guy will have ten points himself if he wins 
the pole-vault,” said Louise. “That would make 
it very simple.” 

“I don’t believe he’s going to,” said another girl. 
“He’s just missed that try, and I think that long- 
legged Springdale boy did it a minute ago.” 

“Oh, dear, if he doesn’t!” exclaimed Louise 
hopelessly. “There, he’s gone and missed it again ! 
No, he hasn’t! He hasn’t! He went over! Oh, 
do you think that makes him win?” 

Evidently it didn’t, for while Guy was being con 
gratulated by those around the vaulting standard 
the bar was again raised and a boy with a mega 
phone announced: “The bar is now at ten fed. 
one and one-half inches!” 

3i3 


THE PURPLE PENNANT 

But interest was drawn from the prolonged 
struggle there to the track. At the beginning of 
the straightaway they were gathering the contest- 
ants in the final of the two-hundred-and-twenty- 
yards-dash, the last of the track events. Clearfield 
and Springdale had each placed three men in the 
trials. For Clearfield these were Perry Hull, Kirke 
and Soper; for Springdale, Knight, Lawrence and 
Gedge. The trials had been done in twenty- four 
and three-fifths and twenty-four and four-fifths, 
rather slow time, but the final promised to show 
faster performances. It was figured that if Cap- 
tain Felker could win five points in the pole-vault 
and the Purple’s sprinters could capture first and 
second places in the two-twenty, Clearfield might 
after all squeeze out a victory, for Partridge was 
counted on to have a very good chance to get the 
best there was in the hammer-throw, which had 
been going on for some time in the field across the 
way. But it was necessary to get eight points in 
the sprint, as it was reckoned, and there were few 
who dared hope for such a result. Kirke, it was 
generally conceded, might possibly win first place, 
but there were two good runners in the Springdale 
trio who would certainly make a showing. 

Perry drew the fourth lane, with Lawrence of 
Springdale on his left and Orson Kirke on his 
314 


THE PURPLE PENNANT, 

right. Kirke looked grimly determined and Perry 
was pretty sure that he meant to win. And, 
thought Perry, since he had failed in the hundred 
he really deserved to. But Perry was not yet con- 
ceding the race. He had made mistakes in his first 
race. He had realized it afterwards. Now he 
meant to profit by what he had learned. He wasn’t 
so frightened this time, either. He had been 
through the fire. 

The crowd about the start drew back to the turf 
and a whistle shrilled. Down at the finish a hand- 
kerchief waved response. The six boys stopped 
prancing and settled to their places. The starter 
stepped back. 

“On your marks !” 

Perry, settling his toes into the cinders, heard the 
click of the pistol hammer as it was drawn back. 
There was a sudden silence. 

“Set!” 

An instant’s pause and then the pistol spoke 
sharply and the race was on. Six lithe, white-clad 
forms launched themselves forward, twelve arms 
beat the air and twelve legs twinkled. Three of the 
six had drawn ahead in the first* lunge, Perry and 
Kirke amongst them. Twenty yards away the field 
was already strung out. Kirke, running terrific- 
ally, was a yard to the good. Perry and Lawrence 
3i5 


THE PURPLE PENNANT 

were next. Soper was a yard or so behind them. 
But that order changed again in the next few sec- 
onds. Perry was breasting Kirke then and Law- 
rence was almost even with them. Soper was 
making bad going and falling back. The shouts of 
the crowd in the stands and around the finish made 
a crashing bedlam of sound that drowned com- 
pletely the quick scrunch-scrunch of the runners’ 
shoes and their hoarse breathing. 

Now it was half -distance, and Perry saw the 
white figure at his right fall back and felt rather 
than saw another form crawling up and up on the 
other side near the rim. Lawrence held on, too, 
and fifty yards from the finish Perry, Lawrence and 
Gedge were neck-and-neck, with Kirke a single 
pace behind. Soper and Knight were already 
beaten. Then Gedge forged ahead and the wild 
shouts of the Springdale contingent took on new 
vigor. Cries of <( Clear field! Clearfield!” “Spring- 
dale! Springdale!” filled the air. Dimly, Perry 
heard his own name over and over. 

Now the slim white thread was rushing up the 
track toward him. He had no sense of moving 
himself, although his lungs were aching and his 
arms swung back and forth and his legs, suddenly 
weighted with lead, still spurned the track. It was 
as though he, in spite of the painful efforts he was 
.316 


THE PURPLE PENNANT 

making, was standing still and the finish line was 
racing toward him! For a moment he wondered 
about Kirke, but for a moment only. The tape 
was but twenty yards away now and it was time 
for the last supreme endeavor. 

Gedge was two paces in front when Perry started 
his final rush. In ten yards he was level. In five 
more he was back with Lawrence. Like a white 
streak Perry breasted the string, his arms thrown 
up, his head back, and after him came Gedge and 
Lawrence, Kirke, Knight and Soper. 

Once over the line, Perry staggered, recovered 
and then fell, rolling limply across the cinders. A 
dozen eager boys rushed to his assistance and he 
was lifted and borne to the turf where, a moment 
later, he found his breath. 

“Kirke?” he whispered. 

“No,” was the answer. “They got second and 
third. You broke the dual record, Hull; twenty- 
three and four-fifths!” 

Perry considered that an instant in silence. 
Then: “We lose the meet, though, don’t we?” 

His informant nodded. “Suppose so. There’s 
still the hammer-throw, but I guess we’re dished. 
It isn’t your fault, though. You ran a peach of 
a race, Hull!” 

Perry climbed weakly to his feet, with assist- 
317 


THE PURPLE PENNANT 

ance, and found that at last he could take a long 
breath again. “I’m sorry about Kirke,” he said 
rather vaguely. 

“Are you?” gasped a voice behind him. “So’m 
I, but glad you won, Perry!” It was Kirke him- 
self. Perry shook hands with him and then oth- 
ers pushed around for the same purpose ; Lawrence 
and Gedge of Springdale, and Arthur Beatomand 
Toby Sears and several others, and, finally, Skeet, 
Skeet with puzzled admiration written large on his 
thin face. 

“I never knew you had it in you, Hull!” he de- 
clared, wringing Perry’s hand. “Kid, you made 
a fine finish! I thought it was all over ten yards 
from the tape, and then, bing! — you left him 
standing! But don’t stay around here and get stiff. 
Beat it to the shower!” 

“Wait! What’s the score, please?” 

“Oh, they’re fifty-two and a half to our forty-six 
and a half. Cap got first in the pole-vault, but 
Mander wasn’t placed. They’ve got the meet, all 
right, but we made ’em fight for it!” 

“Fifty-two?” repeated Perry, puzzled. “But 
don’t they have to have more than fifty-four to 
win?” 

“Yes, the hammer-throw isn’t finished yet. 
They’ll get three in that, anyhow,” 

318 


THE PURPLE PENNANT 

Perry looked around. The field was already 
emptying. ‘Til get my dressing-gown, I guess/’ 
he said. 

“All right, but don’t stand around too long,” said 
Skeet. “I’m going over to see them finish the ham- 
mer. Better luck next year, Hull.” 

He nodded and joined the throng straggling 
through the gate. Perry hurried back up the field 
and found his dressing-gown and then, disregard- 
ing Skeet’s suggestion, he too followed the crowd 
to where, on the lot behind the field, it had spread 
itself in a half-circle around the group of hammer- 
throwers. Perry wedged himself through to where 
he could see a little. 

“Hello,” said a voice at his elbow and he looked 
up into Lanny’s smiling countenance. “You ran a 
great race, Perry. I wasn’t needed to-day after 
all, was I?” He found Perry’s hand and clasped 
it warmly. “Your time bettered the best I ever 
made in my life. Next year you’ll have them 
standing on their heads, or I’m a Dutchman!” 

“Thanks,” murmured Perry. “I guess I 
wouldn’t have beaten you, Lanny, if you’d been 
there. How — how is this coming out? Is there 
any chance for us to get the meet?” 

“No, I think not. Partridge did a hundred and 
thirty-one and eight inches, I believe, and no one’s 
3i9 


THE PURPLE PENNANT 

come near him. But that big chap of theirs will 
get second, I guess. Fudge Shaw is right after 
him, though. There’s Springdale’s last try.” 

Perry, standing on tip-toe, saw the hammer go 
flying off, but couldn’t see where it landed. 

“The worst he’s done yet,” exclaimed Lanny. 
“By Jove, I wonder ” 

There was a sudden stir of excitement about 
them. “If Shaw can better his last throw,” a voice 
nearby said, “we may have a chance yet. But he’s 
got to beat a hundred and twenty- four and some- 
thing!” 

“Is Fudge still in it?” asked Perry wonderingly. 
Lanny nodded. 

“Yes, he’s been doing well, too. So far he’s only 
six feet behind the Springdale chap, I understand. 
I only got here about five minutes ago. There’s 
Guy Felker over there with the pennant the girls 
gave him.” 

“Oh, did he win it? I’m glad of that. How 
many points did he make, Lanny?” 

“Ten; first in the high-jump and pole-vault. 
Here goes Harry again.” 

Partridge walked into the circle, dragging his 
hammer, and the measurer, far out across the 
field, scuttled for safety, the yellow tape fluttering 
behind him. The crowd laughed and then grew 
3 20 


THE PURPLE PENNANT 
silent. Partridge spun and the weight went hurtling 
through the air. But the result failed to equal his 
best throw. 

“Now comes Fudge,” whispered Lanny. “Gee, 
but I wish he might beat that Springdale chap. If 
we could get second place out of this we’d have 
the meet!” 

“Would we?” asked Perry, startled. “I 
thought ” 

“Eight points would give us fifty-four and a 
half,” said Lanny, “and that would be enough, 
wouldn't it? Funny Falkland is out of it. I 
thought he was almost as good as Harry.” 

Perry, dodging behind the heads and shoulders in 
front of him, saw Fudge throwing off his dressing- 
gown and step, a rotund but powerful-look- 
ing youth, into the ring. Applause greeted him. 
Fudge glanced around and was seen to wink 
gravely at someone in the throng. Then he placed 
the ball of the hammer at the back of the ring, 
closed his fingers about the handle and raised his 
shoulders. Silence fell once more and anxious 
faces watched as the hammer came off the ground 
and began to swing, slowly at first and then faster 
and faster above the whitewashed circle. Fudge' s 
feet sped around, shifting like a dancer's, until he 
was well toward the front of the ring. Then his 
321 


THE PURPLE PENNANT 

sturdy young body set suddenly, his hands opened 
and off shot the flying weight, arching through the 
air, to come to earth at last far across the sunlit 
field. 

The crowd broke and hurried to cluster about 
the ring, excited voices speculating eagerly on the 
distance. Out where the hammer had plowed 
into the sod the measurer was stooping with the 
tape. Then : 

“All right here!” he called. 

A breathless moment followed. Heads bent 
close above the official as he tautened his end of 
the tape over the wooden rim. 

“One hundred,” announced the judge, “and . . . 
twenty . . . five feet and . . .” 

But what the inches were Perry didn’t hear. A 
wild shout of rejoicing arose from the friends of 
Clearfield. Fudge had won second place and Clear- 
field had captured the meet! 

After that all was confusion and noise. Perry 
suddenly found himself shaking hands laughingly 
with Mr. Addicks, although what the latter said 
he couldn’t hear. Then his attention was at- 
tracted to a commotion nearby as the crowd pushed 
and swayed. On the shoulders of excited, trium- 
phant schoolmates, Fudge, half in and half out of 
his crimson robe, was being borne past. He espied 
322 


THE PURPLE PENNANT 

Perry and waved to him, and Perry forced his way 
through the throng just as Guy Felker reached up 
and placed the purple pennant in Fudge’s hand. 

“W-w-w-what’s this?” stammered Fudge. 

"It’s yours, Fudge!” shouted Guy. “You’ve won 
the meet and you get the pennant!” 

“B-b-but I d-d-didn’t w-w-win this, d-d-did I?” 
gasped Fudge. 

“You bet!” 

“W-w-well, but wh-wh-why ?” 

“Because we needed three points to win the meet, 
you old idiot,” laughed Guy, “and you got them 
for us!” 

“And,” supplemented a voice that sounded like 
Curtis Wayland’s, “for numerous other reasons!” 

And Fudge, borne forward again, waving the 
purple pennant high in air, had the grace to blush. 












































































































































































































































































































































